Over The Top: Terror on Gay Street
by Master of the Boot
Summary: Edward Cullen is the unofficial king of the Seattle gay scene. All he wants is to take Jasper Whitlock home for a little fun,fun,fun. Unfortunately, tradgedy hits Edward and Jasper and the two are forced to fight for their lives. AU, AH.
1. A night on the town

Over the Top: Terror on Gay Street

Chapter One: A night on the town

Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight, Metal Gear or the KGB. Those are owned by Stephanie Meyer, Sega and Vladimir Putin. Also note, this story is rated M. So you young uns, click the back button while you still can.

Side Note: This story is based heavily off of another fanfiction story called Over the  
Top by starfish422. Fans of that story can think of this as an AU fanfiction  
of that fanfiction. It begins with the same budding relationship between  
Edward and Jasper and takes a disturbing twist when a slew of colorful new  
characters are added. This story begs the question - how far would their love  
have gone had drunken KGB agents became involved? Fasten your seat belts  
folks, and enjoy the ride.

Thank you to starfish422 for your permission to borrow your take on Jasper  
and Edward as well as certain scenes from your story.  
OTT can be found in the Twilight community, Some like it hot.

_Some people believe that everything happens for a reason, that everything is planned. Others take a different view, believing that accident and error are the modus operandi of the universe and that everything purely random. Whatever the case is, some pretty horrible things can happen to relatively decent people. _

_On a dark and sultry night, not too long ago, something happened. Something happened that would make any sane individual scratch their heads and say, "How did that happen?"_

_On a dark and sultry night, not too long ago . . . _

The dance floor was a mass of seething flesh, swaying in sync with thunderous music that shook the very foundation of the club. Topless boys gyrated with the heavy rhythm, their smooth sweaty bodies reflecting the colorful lights of the club.

From his vantage point, Edward Cullen could see everybody. He could see the various freaks, twinks, tops, bottoms, switch hitters and the odd fiend. A few leather daddies mingled here and there, trickling from the leather bar down the street.

Edward was one of those, the beautiful ones. He was one of those boyish guys that frequented places like this nearly every night. He was one of those guys that had taken nearly all of the regular clientele around here home. Edward was after all the unofficial King of the Seattle gay community, an unabashed pleasure seeker.

Tonight they were all there, the dominants, the submissive, the meek ones, the perverts and man sluts. Every last one of them was sweating and pounding out the beat in one long and continuous movement. Edward looked around, scowling slightly. He'd had sex with nearly every one of these guys and the fresh meat looked like crap.

But he wasn't going to go home tonight empty handed, no sir. The shameless pleasure seeker was going to find a nice guy to be on bottom if it took him all night.

There was one fellow on the dance floor that caught Edward's eye. The man was already looking at Edward, licking his lips and grinning. Subtle as a sledgehammer this one was, gave great head, but Edward thought he might have a disease. So it was better to leave this one alone, let somebody else catch the clap.

Entering the dance floor, Edward scanned about for tonight's conquest. His search was fruitless until a mop of curly blond hair caught his eye. The owner of that mop of blond hair stood at the edge of the dance floor, seemingly unaffected by the pounding music. This guy was new, an unknown.

Deciding to hedge his bets, Edward gestured to the new boy. Made it abundantly clear that he was going to grab a drink and then join him. In response the new guy nodded. Edward grabbed his usual beverage, a double Glen Livet, and started to head towards the potential sexual conquest.

Edward told the bartender to hurry it; it wouldn't be long before the blond boy was snapped up by some good looking stud with a chest of curly hair. Chest hair was a sore point for Edward; he hardly had any even though he was twenty six. Oh well, guys here were generally more interested in his penis than his sparse chest hair.

Drink in hand; Edward went over in his mind the best pick-up line for the situation. He could go really classy, "_I couldn't help but notice you're too good looking not to head home with me._" There was also the casual approach, "_What'd you say to you and me heading to my place and we knock some boots_?" Another option was the domineering way, "_I'm the best you're ever going to get, you should take my offer while it's still open._" Also, he could go far left field, "_My apartment is being fumigated, we should fuck._"

Edward was almost upon the blond, it was time to bring out the big guns, "I want to make you sit on my nine inch cock." Certainly it wasn't the most subtle pickup line but it seemed to do the trick.

Blond boy turned around and grinned. Whoa, Edward was right to go after this fish, he was _gorgeous_. High cheekbones, slight chin cleft, sparkling, deep set eyes, delicate mouth; the dames and the queer men must be breaking down his door just to get a look at him.

Despite his grin, the dude was extremely calm. Too calm in fact, he was making Edward feel a little vulnerable.

Some twink choose that moment to pester the two men, "Edward, I thought you were coming back to the dance floor?"

The blond guy turned towards the Twink and kindly advised him, "Fuck off." In a flash, the bothersome Twink was gone.

Forgetting the young punk, Blondie looked over Edward appraisingly, "Nine inches, Edward?"

Edward nodded, "Nine inches." There were half dozen guys in the immediate vicinity that could verify his claim about the length of his member. Edward licked his lips a little big, "What should I call you, big boy?"

"Jasper, but to my friends I'm Jazz."

"Alright, _Jazz_, your place or mine?"

Jasper informed Edward, "My place isn't packed."

They were heading out of the club when Edward said to his new one night stand, "You're new to Seattle." It wasn't a question, he must be new to town because Edward hadn't seen him during all the four years he'd been visiting this club. They just reached Edward's Volvo when things began to go horribly wrong.

They reached the car when Jasper said to Edward, "I'm from Seattle originally, but I haven't lived here in years."

That was fine with Edward; he wanted this guy's ass, not his history, so he didn't press further.

Before they could get into the car however, a voice interrupted them. "I love reloading in a fight; there's nothing like the feel of slamming a long silver bullet into a well greased chamber."

Edward rolled his eyes, he didn't know who the hell this guy was, but he was going to have to learn that Edward Cullen didn't do three-ways.

Turning around, his eyes were greeted with a strange and somewhat frightening sight. There were three of them; two were drunk out of their minds while their leader was sober. The two drunk ones were soulless agents of the KGB, mean as rabid dogs. The other guy looked like some kind of Russian cowboy or a Lee Van Cleef impersonator.

The drunken KGB guys were grinning maliciously, their breathing was heavy. Truly they looked wild, hungry and inhuman.

Their leader, Comrade Cowboy, was a little different. He was sinister but in a subtle and controlled fashion. He was every bit as sly as his white handlebar moustache suggested. "My friends and I are having a night on the town, but we've had no luck with the ladies."

Edward gave them a hard stare, "If you're having bad luck with the ladies your luck is not going to improve in front of a gay bar." He turned around and said to Jasper, "Come on Jazz, let's leave these losers."

The click of a gun cocking stopped Edward and Jasper dead in their tracks. Slowly, the pair turned around to face their possible killer.

The Russian cowboy was quite the sight to behold, with his long duster, well pressed Victorian dress shirt, crimson tie with jeweled clasp and polished shiny six shooter, he was the poster boy for macho, manly, western magnificence. He explained gently to them, "I beg to differ, _ladies_."

One of the KGB men said to him in a slobbering, hateful voice, "Revolver Ocelot, I've drank so much that I can't see well. Are these ladies you're talking with very beautiful?"

The Russian cowboy, Revolver Ocelot reassured his companions, "Oh Dmitri, these women are so beautiful that you'd have to be sober to completely appreciate them."

At this, Dmitri chuckled darkly, though he didn't get the joke.

The second KBG man, smaller than the first but just as wicked, asked, "I want the more beautiful one, Ocelot. I always do the hardest work, I want the prettier one."

Ocelot chided his friend, "Felix, you'll get your reward. We'll all get something."

Ocelot then noticed the green eyed one's hand start to move towards his cell phone. Raising his pistol ever so slightly, Edward's hand froze into place. Shaking his head, Ocelot tutted, "Uh-uh, I may be a little on in my years, but my eye and my arm as just as fast as ever."

To demonstrate, Ocelot began to spin his gun around on his finger very fast. He spun the gun around his head, under his arm, over his arm, passed it from hand to hand and various other more complex gun moves. Without stopping his elaborate display of gun showmanship, Ocelot asked Jasper, "Do you know what kind of gun this is?"

Jasper was an accountant; knowledge of guns wasn't exactly a prerequisite for his line of work, "Um, a cowboy gun?"

Ocelot was outraged, he increased the speed of his gun spinning, "No, you blazing idiot! This is the Colt Single Action Army Handgun!"

Drunk as they were, Felix and Dmitri both shook their heads and rolled their eyes. Ocelot was never able to shut up, about anything, especially his gun.

Continuing his fancy gun spinning, Ocelot lectured, "Oh yes, I can see you men are in awe as I happen to hold the greatest handgun ever invented. It is also known as the Colt Peacemaker, The Single Action Army, The Colt .45, sometimes The Equalizer or the Colt Peacekeeper."

Ocelot held the gun out in front of him, alternately pointing it in Edward's face and spinning it, "It is a single action revolver containing a revolving cylinder that holds six rounds. Six rounds are all I need to kill anything on this planet that moves."

"What about vampires?" Felix asked.

Ocelot frowned, "What about vampires?"

Felix responded, "If you were facing a vampire, you'd need a wooden stake. I don't think six, or even seven bullets would work."

"Don't move." Ocelot aimed his gun now at Jasper. "Felix, there are no such things are vampires, or faeries, or mummies or Mr. Spock."

Dmitri pulled out his handgun and aimed it at where he thought the two "ladies" were. His weapon weaved around so much it looked like he was trying to write the soviet anthem in the air. "Ocelot, last month I watched a whole season of Sailor Moon. They didn't talk as much or waste as much time as you always do. Let's just fuck these bitches and get it over with."

Ocelot aimed his pistol at Dmitri, who failed to notice this new development, "I do _not_ waste time! I use clever psychology to psych-out my opponents!"

But Dmitri didn't listen to a word that Ocelot said, "And besides, Felix is wrong. You can't kill a vampire with a wooden stake. You need to chop them into little bitty pieces and burn them."

"ENOUGH!" Ocelot screamed loud enough to make every one of them jump. "I would like to get this over with before anybody see-Hi, how are you?"

The twink that Jasper had earlier brushed off was back. He'd come out of the club, hoping to get a glimpse of Edward before he left. He'd been greeted with the rather unusual sight of Edward and Jasper being surrounded by a cowboy and two hammered Russians in business suits.

Out of the corner of his eye, the cowboy saw the Twink and spun around, hiding his gun behind his back, "Hi, how are you?"

The twink, who's name was Lenny, said, "Edward, what's going on?"

Ocelot turned around briefly and snarled at Edward, and then he turned back towards Lenny and grinned broadly, trying to look innocent. Ocelot responded on Edward's behalf, "Everything is fine, boy in pink shirt. We're just goin' to drive Edward home."

Lenny's jaw dropped, "You guys are having a gang bang! Can I come too?" Lenny had been so focused on sex that he'd neglected to notice that one of the Russians carried a gun.

The smile on Ocelot's face was a mile wide now and as fake as anything on God's green earth, "Uh . . . yes! We are having a bang gang and you're welcome to come."

Lenny was ecstatic, "Really? Sweet, I've never been to a gang bang before!"

Unfortunately for poor Lenny, Ocelot had a very devious plan in mind. He pointed over Lenny's shoulder and said, "Look, its Brent Corrigan."

Lenny spun around, "Oh man, where?"

Edward's eyes widened as he realized what Ocelot was going to do.

"Riiiiiight here", Ocelot drawled out his words as though they were oiled. With liquid grace, he brought up his cocked gun and aimed it at the back of Lenny's head. The gun he wielded had a three pound trigger, and Ocelot was putting two and nine tenths pounds on it.

The hammer of the gun fell, striking the percussion cap of the cartridge. The retort of the gun was so loud that it made Edward jump.

Firstly he was aware of his ears ringing; Edward was hesitant to open his eyes. The second thing he was aware of was that Jasper was embracing him and that he was embracing Jasper. The two of them were like a pair of frightened children, while Revolver Ocelot looked like the white haired devil in cowboy gear.

Lenny lay on the ground, dead before he even knew what had happened. His skull was blown open as though it was a fruit ravaged by some hungry animal. As he lay lifeless on the sidewalk, blood flowed in lazy gouts all over the concrete.

As his hearing returned, Edward became aware of a sound that was disturbing beyond measure. Laughter. Felix and Dmitri were both laughing as if Ocelot had told them a very funny joke.

Dmitri guffawed merrily and slapped Felix on the back, "That never grows old. Filthy queer deserved it anyhow."

Felix's laughter was higher and breathier than his partner's, "It's like his head was a grape and Ocelot popped it."

With slow assuredness, Ocelot faced the two clubbers. Jasper shifted his position so that his body was placed between Ocelot and Edward. To say the least, Edward was touched by the gesture, but he only had a brief time to savor the moment.

Ocelot's fair skin and white moustache were peppered with little drops of blood. His eyes were every bit as empty and threatening as the mouth of his gun. He raised his gun at the two captives; smoke rising lazily from the gun's opening. "Unless you want to share in his fate, you'll do whatever I say. You'll swallow what I say to swallow and treat my friend's word as if it were mine." The cowboy's grim visage twisted into a half grin, "Do we have an understanding?"

A barely perceptible nod from the frightened men told Ocelot what he wanted to hear. "And if you play your cards right, you might even enjoy this."

"Let's steal their car", Felix gurgled.

Ocelot agreed, "Yes, let's borrow these ladies car. Drive us out of here before anybody sees the body."

With much noise but no words spoken, Edward, Jasper, Felix, Dmitri and Ocelot all piled into Edward's Volvo.

Jasper rode shotgun while Edward drove. Ocelot and companions rode in the back, ignoring the seatbelts as they did. Dmitri ran his hand through Jasper's hair, but the blond did not dare complain. Both of the KGB men had their pistols withdrawn now, at any moment the end might come.

Jasper's revulsion was clear on his face, Dmitri's hand felt as though he'd run them through a bucket of steaming intestines. This in fact was not very far from the truth.

Ocelot leaned back in his seat, one boot propped up next to Edward's ear. He was simultaneously enjoying the comfort of European engineering and disdaining it. "You know, this car is a lot like you, boy. It's weak and it's overly flashy. Me, I prefer my cars either American or Soviet. Now those people know how to build cars powerful, not just flamboyant."

Ocelot was too busy in his monologue to notice that Edward was sending out a text message with one hand while holding the steering wheel with the other.

* * *

Thank you for reading, this is only the first chapter of my story, stay tuned for more. Originally this was going to be a oneshot, but it just grew too big. Thanks for reading, remember to review me. Next chapter, we get to meet some good old fashioned bar fighters.

Ta

Master of the Boot


	2. Good old Boys

Over the Top: Terror on Gay Street

Chapter Two: Good old Boys

Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight, Metal Gear or the KGB. Those are owned by Stephanie Meyer, Sega and Vladimir Putin. Also note, this story is rated M. So don't cry to me when you see things you don't like.

Side Note: This story is based very heavily off of another story called _Over the Top_. OTT can be found in the Twilight community, Some like it hot.

Seattle, not far from Edward's location

Like his friend Edward Cullen, Peter Costas was an unabashed pleasure seeker. However, the manner in which they derived pleasure was very different. Edward liked to have multiple one night stands, that's how he got his jollies.

Peter was a Greek boy, born of immigrant parents. In their happy Greek family, Peter was the bad boy. During school Peter had been something of a bully, he wasn't insecure, he just was having a good time. At the age of twenty four, Peter's attitude problem still hadn't left him. Woes betide any fast food clerks that dared to try and jerk Peter's chain.

Peter had some friends that he liked to hang out with. First there was Sweet Kapoyanis, another Greek boy, his dad owned a whorehouse. Then there was Dennis, who wasn't Greek. Dennis was a big brute of a man who made living collecting debts for the pawnshop owners. A fearsome sight to behold, Dennis resembled nothing so much as a shaven gorilla in a denim jacket three sizes too small.

Every day, twice on weekends, the trio would head out to the boxing gym to train. The boxing gym of which they were members was situated in the roughest neighborhood in town. You had to fight your way in and fight your way out.

At the gym, Peter and his buddies worked out with the vigor and dedication of Olympian athletes. Were they going to try for the gold? No. The reason they trained so hard was that they would be able to beat up drunks in bars.

That was Peter's pleasure; he got his jollies from beating up people who were so drunk they couldn't see.

It was always the same. First, Peter would go and find somebody who was about to fall over. Then, Peter would punch that guy in the face. After that, Peter and friends would just fight anything that moved. If they were feeling frisky, they might end the night by beating up the bouncers.

Tonight was different, they'd beaten up cops. And they'd had a good time doing it too. Normally the three were long gone before the cops showed up, but Dennis had slowed them down. The hulking bruiser had forced his friends to stick around and watch the end of The Flintstones.

Dennis insisted, "I tell you, Pete, Fred Flintstone is real."

Peter told Dennis, "Fred Flintstone is not real, you fucking idiot!"

But Dennis insisted, "Look, he's on TV. He must be real."

Peter liked Dennis very much, but he didn't hang out with Dennis for his brains. "He's a fucking cartoon character!"

While Peter and Dennis were debating whether Fred Flintstone was real or not, Sweet Kapoyanis was watching the window. He heard the sirens and soon he'd bee seeing them. "Guys, cops are showing up!"

Peter panicked, relations with his dad were strained enough as it was. If his old man caught word that Peter had been arrested, the old timer would shit a chicken. "Let's get out of here, through the back!"

"Fuck that", said Kapoyanis, "I say we stay her and kick the crap out of those cops."

"No way, Sweet. My dad would have an aneurism."

Sweet Kapoyanis smiled, "That's only if you get caught. Most of these cops are just fat guys with a badge. It'll be like taking ouzo from a baby."

The Flintstones had finished and Dennis could now hear the sirens. "We're going to fight cops? Cool!"

Still, it did not sit right with Peter, "Sweet, this isn't like fighting hookers or junkies or muggers. These guys are cops, they've got guns!"

Kapoyanis wasn't fazed, "Then those disarming techniques that Big Shawn Pike taught us will come in handy, right?"

The cops entered the bar, finding everybody in the place except for two Greeks and a human gorilla unconscious. Pete didn't notice their entry because his cell phone rang with a very special ringtone. Edward was sending him a text message.

Edward Cullen was the only good apple that Peter ever hung out with. Going out, bar brawling and having a gangster girlfriend weren't conductive to being a good boy. With no family in this city, Edward was Peter's only positive influence.

At this point, the two cops were regretting having crossed fists with Dennis and Sweet Kapoyanis. Either one of those guys would have been too much for two cops.

Peter read the text message, "P, I and a friend have been taken hostage. Same as October '95."

Peter remembered October of nineteen ninety-five. At that time, he'd known Edward for about a year. Halfway through October, a homophobic prick and his pal had shown up at Edward's house. One of them was going to use his knife when Peter showed up. One guy made a run for it while the other one, the one with the knife, stayed to fight. Naturally, Peter beat him so badly that the doctors had to keep his brains in his skull with a piece of plastic.

That day on October, nineteen ninety-five, the friendship between Edward and Peter, previously a casual one, had evolved. Peter did eventually learn of Edward's sexual orientation, but still considers the photographer his friend.

Peter looked up from his cell phone. Dennis was wearing the hats of one of the cops. The boys in blue looked as though they'd come off for the worse in a fight with the X-men.

Sweet Kapoyanis was looking very pleased with himself when Peter told him, "Edward's in trouble, let's motor."

Kapoyanis chortled, "What's wrong with that fag now? Does he need help pulling a squirrel out of his ass?"

Peter began to march forward, bringing himself closer to Sweet Kapoyanis and Dennis. "No, he's got some guys trying to kill him. We can probably track him with the GPS shit on the phone he gave me."

Sweet didn't sound the least bit sympathetic, "Alright, so your queer friend owes somebody money. We've all got problems."

"If we go and help out my friend Edward, we'll probably have to kill some people."

"I changed my mind, let's help Edward."

* * *

". . . and that's what was so ironic on Red vs. Blue. Do you comprehend, comrade?"

In response, Edward could only nod. Fear was eating into his guts like a colony of parasitic worms. Only the brief reassuring glance from Jasper was able to alleviate Edward's fear. And Jasper could only give him these looks when Ocelot wasn't looking.

Suddenly, Felix began to groan. Ocelot raised an eyebrow, "What's wrong with you, Felix?"

Felix moaned in response, "I think I drank too much, I'm going to vomit."

Ocelot sat up, putting his boot down from Edward's headrest, "You are not going to vomit in this car with me in it."

Dmitri's stomach started to rumble, "Ocelot, I think I'm also going to vomit."

Ocelot's sly voice raised itself to a yell, "That's why you shouldn't have drank rubbing alcohol in the first place!"

The revolver wielding former member of Spetznaz had no respect for the property of others, but he did not want to deal with vomit on the floor of the car when it could splash all over his shiny black boots. Honestly, it had taken him over half an hour to polish the boots to this beautiful sheen.

"Stop the car", Ocelot barked, "NOW!"

The Volvo screeched to a halt, in the nick of time too. The passenger doors on either side of the car opened and Dmitri and Felix were both kicked out. Seconds later, the two KGB agents were regurgitating the alcohol in their stomachs all over the road.

Not having to worry about his boots, Ocelot's analytical mind went to work devising a strategy. With gloves as black as his boots, Ocelot grabbed Jasper's hair and pressed the Colt against his temple.

Seeing Jasper held in such a position filled Edward with an impotent rage. This man had placed thrown himself in front of Ocelot's gun. Edward knew that he personally deserved what was happening now for all that he'd done, both to himself and to his family, but Jasper didn't belong here.

Thinking only of Jasper, Edward tried to get Ocelot to climb down, "Take it easy, nobody needs to get hurt."

"Shut up," Ocelot seethed, "Get out of the car, we're walking now." The Russian snarled once more, "Get out of the car now or I'll kill him right here, right now."

Edward wished that he could offer some comfort to Jasper, give him some kind of assurance that everything was going to be okay. God knew, Jasper needed that reassurance and so did Edward. He had no idea if Peter even received his text message. For ages it seemed now, Edward's heart had been made of ice, of his own free will. Now it seemed, the world had become as cruel and icy as Edward had tried to make his heart.

There was nothing of compassion or of mercy in Ocelot's face. There was nothing to plead to, nothing that would listen to cries for relief. He looked like a man who was about to impale a cockroach on a thumbtack, because that's all that Jasper and Edward were to him. And for Jasper's sake, Edward was going to comply with Ocelot's wishes.

Dmitri and Felix were on the ground, panting and shedding tears as their bodies purged themselves of the poisonous levels of alcohol. They didn't even notice it when Ocelot stepped out of the car with the two soon-to-be rape victims.

Ocelot was back to his slick and charismatic self now that the two pretty boys were doing exactly what he wanted. Despite his self professed heterosexuality, Ocelot had had sex with dozens of men and boys. He'd never actually had consensual sex, but that was where half the fun lay. Although, Ocelot did have romantic aspirations for a man named Big Boss, that's a story for another time.

Jasper and Edward were herded into an alley way like cattle to the slaughterhouse. Felix and Dmitri lifted themselves off of the ground, they were heavy drinkers and accustomed to puking their guts out. They both pulled out their forty caliber Vorjag and trained them as best they could on their prisoners.

To their backs, there was an unclimbable wall of brick; in front of them were three hostile men with guns and the knowhow to use them. Truly it seemed to be the end of Jasper and Edward's world.

The three Russians closed in like sharks drawn to blood, only they were drawn in by the promise of human misery.

Jasper looked at Edward with forlorn eyes. This was just such a waste. There could have been so much between the pair, Jasper was sure of it. Love might have blossomed, a friendship might have formed, anything might have happened. Even if all they received from each other was carnal pleasure, that would also have been good.

Now, instead of being sprayed with the white spume of lust, Jasper would be splashed with the crimson tide of annihilation. Edward too seemed to sense that the end was night; sadness was etched into his near perfect features.

Felix and Dmitri were panting like animals; they looked more like upright coyotes than men. And Ocelot, he did not resemble the wild cat of his namesake. Instead he looked like a snake, cold and hungry.

Turning away from the nightmare vision of Ocelot, Felix and Dmitri, Jasper reached out and caressed Edward's beautiful face. A tear leaked from his eye, and then Jasper shut eyes.

Ocelot reached out, "I claim first taste." His left hand reached towards Jasper's crotch while his right hand firmly held his peacemaker.

SCHING!

Ocelot's eyes bugged with the sheerest agony. From just above his elbow on his gun arm, a sharp blade protruded, slicing the bone nearly in half.

Half of the blade shone silver with reflected moonlight, the other half of it sucked up the moonlight in the red of Ocelot's blood.

Inebriated, Felix yelled, "It's a knife."

Dmitri yelled back, "No, it's a spear."

Ocelot screamed over both of them, "ITS A BAYONET!!!!"

* * *

Thank you for reading, I can't say how pleased I am with all the people who have chosen to comment and favorite this story. In the next chapter we've got some heavy action, so be prepared.

Ta

Master of the Boot


	3. The Mad Scottish Priest

Over the Top: Terror on Gay Street

Chapter Three: The Mad Scottish Priest

Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight, Metal Gear or the KGB. Those are owned by Stephanie Meyer, Sega and Vladimir Putin. Also note, this story is rated M. So don't cry to me when you see things you don't like.

Side Note: This story is based very heavily off of another story called _Over the Top, _by starfish422. OTT can be found in the Twilight community, Some like it hot.

* * *

Ocelot screamed over both of them, "ITS A BAYONET!!!!"

SCHING! SCHING! SCHING! SCHING!

As if on cue, four more bayonets sliced through the air like lightening, amputating Ocelot's arm.

Felix and Dmitri spun around, trying to find the origin of the blades that had done Ocelot such a disservice.

There!

Upon one of the walls of the alleyway, he stood. Dmitri and Felix laid eyes on the seven foot tall figure and tripped over themselves with fear. Edward and Jasper also caught sight of the sinister man and gasped.

As he stood, none of his features were visible, only that he was of great height and width. He was as a living shadow, noticeable only by his outline, his glasses that threw off the glare of the moon, his shining white teeth and the massive gold cross he wore around his neck. He grinned as he jumped down into the alleyway.

Alexander Anderson was not sane, not by any stretch of the word. He didn't see pink elephants on the ceiling nor did he think that he could fly. That was about as "sane" as his psychological profile got.

By day Anderson was a corporate lawyer who sold his services almost exclusively to the Catholic Church. By night, he was a crime fighting vigilante who could make Alan Moore's highly dysfunctional Watchmen take a step or two back.

Anderson was a religious man, just like the men who piloted the Nine Eleven flights were religious. Alexander Anderson was the worst sort of fanatic who believed that God's law must be enforced with cold hard steel.

To that end, he went out every night to do battle with the criminal element and all others who would oppose the will of god. A gift from the blessed church, God's own flock, multiple razor sharp bayonets sufficed as his weapons against the devil's agents.

Underneath his long priestly cassock was a bullet proof vest. Actually it was two bulletproof vests sewn together, another gift from the church. Anderson was as wide as most door frames, there just wasn't a bullet proof vest on earth big enough to fit his mammoth frame.

Tonight had been very rewarding for Anderson. He'd stopped four crimes in progress with deadly force. There was the one man, a rapist, who Anderson had killed particularly violently. Now, that had been rewarding.

He'd been making his nightly patrols when he'd heard the sound of multiple male voices. If it was a drug deal, he'd probably do something nasty. If it involved homosexuals, they could probably expect worse treatment than the rapist that had been dismembered tonight.

Anderson traced the source of the voices to an alleyway. Five men stood, two men were clearly victims. As a humble servant of the lord, Anderson knew that it was his duty to defend those who could not defend themselves.

Rather than face the men at the alleyway's entrance, he instead began to climb up the building which formed the right wall of the alley. God's vengeance should always come from above.

The leader of the men, the man dressed like a cowboy, was reaching for the groin of one of the two would be victims. Was it rape? Or were the two young men consensual participants in this crime against the Christian God.

Anderson's grandmother had always told him, "Look before you leap." He decided to heed his beloved grandmother's advice.

Anderson was going to kill the older, armed ones first. Judgment would fall on the unarmed boys later. In a good many ways, Alexander bore little resemblance to the heroes found in comic books. But he and Batman were alike in one way, you've got to strike fear in them from the start.

And what better way to strike fear in a person than to slice one of their arms off. Anderson flung his bayonet, striking the cowboy above the elbow. His companions babbled a bit about what sort of blade it was. Then the cowboy screamed out "IT'S A BAYONET!!!"

Yes, it was a bayonet. Because the cowboy guessed correctly, Anderson decided to give him four more.

Blood gushed from the cowboy's severed limb like a showerhead. Anderson's grin widened, the sight of blood always got his spirits up. There was something very rewarding in a criminal's eyes when you sever a major artery.

The cowboy's two drunken companions had caught sight of Anderson. He'd been told that the way his glasses caught a glare in certain light was frightening, apparently they'd been telling the truth.

Without further delay, Anderson leapt down to engage his prey man to man. A sound like steel on stone issued forth as Anderson withdrew two more bayonets from his coat.

Words of God began to issue from the devout Catholic, "Even as Sodom an' Gomorrah an' the cities about 'em in like manner, giving themselves over ta fornication an' going forth after strange flesh, are set foorth for an example, suffering the vengeance of eternal fire."

The words that Anderson spoke came straight from the heavenly father's holy bible, but the manner of which those words were spoken was positively satanic.

Edward and Jasper tried to put as much distance between themselves and the strange priest as possible. Both of their backs thudded against the wall of the alley, the priest was blocking all from leaving.

Felix tried to pick himself up off the ground, cursing in Russian as he did. A single slash from Anderson and Felix was suddenly without a head.

Seeing the sudden demise of his partner, Dmitry panicked and started to fire his weapon. He only got one shot off before taking six bayonets to the face. Dmitri tried to scream but his tongue had been sliced to ribbons and his jaw nailed shut by the long consecrated blades. A fifth bayonet between the eyes finished him off.

Ocelot couldn't believe what was happening. He and the boys had gone into the down in the hopes of doing a little bit of rape. But Ocelot was a schemer born, he already knew that plans seldom go down the way you expect them. So, aside from the missing arm and the massive blood loss, Ocelot was taking things quite well.

Frantically, Ocelot crawled forward to get at his severed arm. His grip had always been strong, now it was working against him because he couldn't get his dismembered hand to let go of the gun.

Suddenly, Ocelot heard the sound of a blade sliding against concrete. Out the corner of his eye, he saw Anderson running at full tilt. One of his bayonets was being dragged on the ground, throwing out a massive spray of sparks.

Ocelot rolled out of the way just in time; otherwise Anderson would have taken his remaining arm.

Wrenching the gun from his once hand, Ocelot drew a bead on Anderson and fired. The Russian's aim was true; he aimed for the heart and hit Anderson where his enormous heart beat. The bullet proof vest just barely stopped the large caliber round, but Anderson would have no lasting injuries.

Ocelot's bullet knocked back Anderson like a strong punch, making him lose his bayonets in the process.

Anderson was thrown on his back, searing pain in his chest and his lungs; but not agony. In his years as a slayer of criminals, Anderson had sustained as many injuries as God saw to gift him with. Pain was an old acquaintance; it was no longer a surprise.

Gasping for air, Anderson quickly rolled out of the way of another one of Ocelot's bullets. Alexander was a massive man, seven feet of height and weighing in at five hundred and ten pounds. Normally a mammoth of a man such as himself would not be the nimblest of fellows.

However, Anderson worked to improve his agility just as he fought every day to improve his strength and endurance. Today, as with many yesterdays, his efforts were paying off.

Anderson threw himself forward, landing in a position like a rugby player ready to spring forward. And spring he did, Anderson flew at Ocelot like a human cannonball.

Shaken by the loss of his arm and Anderson's agility, Ocelot fired at Anderson's heart once more. This time, the vest almost didn't block the bullet. Anderson could feel the blood start to pour from the ruptured skin. But Anderson didn't care if the wound was fatal or not, he had a mission from God to attend to. Preserving his own skin came second to his mission.

Ocelot couldn't quite believe it. He'd seen some powerful men in his day; Vulcan Raven could walk around using an aircraft mounted gun like a rifle. But rarely had he seen power and ferocity meshed together such as this priest before him. The priest was strong in body, but stronger in mind. He was mad, and who is stronger than a madman?

The priest's green eyes held true madness in them. This was God's madman. Ocelot had been a secret agent for over forty years. He'd seen people fight for all sorts of reasons, power, greed, lust, revenge. You name it, if it had been written down in a dictionary, then Ocelot had seen people fight for it.

For the first time in many years, Ocelot was afraid. He just managed to recock his gun when Anderson grabbed the cowboy's white hair in equally white gloved hands.

Written on Anderson's right glove was the inscription, "Speak with the dead." On the left glove there appeared the words, "Jesus Christ is in heaven."

White hair firmly in grip, Anderson slammed Ocelot's head hard enough into the wall of the alleyway to crack the bricks. The aged secret agent slumped forward, bleeding slightly from the head and pouring buckets of blood from his long lost left arm.

Anderson breathed in deeply, though it hurt to do so. The seven foot tall lawyer could feel a bone deep satisfaction flowing through him. It wasn't a sexual feeling or something equally vulgar. Anderson felt invigorated, like a child climbing out of a warm bath. He felt pure above all things.

Suddenly he began to laugh a rumbling, baying laughter. His laugh was like some macabre trumpet celebrating the arrival of a few new souls into the gates of hell.

Anderson's triumphant laughter struck Edward and Jasper like a wave of water, knocking them back as well as dispelling any notion of quietly sneaking out.

In the moonlight, they saw fully Anderson's huge, jubilant grin. Green eyes, wide as saucers, stared unblinkingly at the pair as his lungs labored to crank out more laughter. The green in his eyes was a far brighter and more sinister shade than the verdant vermillion that seemed to color Edward's eyes.

Like a great blond grizzly bear, Anderson loped forward and held his steering wheel sized hands parallel to Jasper's head. Fearing unstable behavior from the giant man, Edward pulled Jasper back. Anderson remained on the spot, arms now outstretched.

* * *

Thank you for reading, I can't say how pleased I am with all the people who have chosen to comment and favorite this story. We've had fun with the mad paladin, we'll have more fun with him next time. I'd like to convey my thanks to all of my readers and reviewers

Ta

Master of the Boot


	4. Opening act

Over the Top: Terror on Gay Street

Chapter Four: Opening act

Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight, Metal Gear or the KGB. Those are owned by Stephanie Meyer, Sega and Vladimir Putin. Also note, this story is rated M. So you young uns, click the back button while you still can.

Side Note: This story is based heavily off of another fanfiction story called Over the  
Top by starfish422. Fans of that story can think of this as an AU fanfiction  
of that fanfiction. It begins with the same budding relationship between  
Edward and Jasper and takes a disturbing twist when a slew of colorful new  
characters are added. This story begs the question - how far would their love  
have gone had drunken KGB agents became involved? Fasten your seat belts  
folks, and enjoy the ride.

Thank you to starfish422 for your permission to borrow your take on Jasper  
and Edward as well as certain scenes from your story.  
OTT can be found in the Twilight community, Some like it hot.

The last of his cackles seemed to launch into the night sky like rockets, "HAHAHAHA!! Ah also gave 'em over ta statutes that were nae good and laws they could nae live by; ah let them become defiled through their gifts—the sacrifice o' every firstborn—that ah might fill them with horror so they would know that I am the LORD!"

The Scottish madman lowered his arms but his grinning glare retained its intensity. "Ezekiel 20:25-26." That was the name of the bible passage that he'd uttered.

Edward tried to force down the lump in his throat. He'd never imagined meeting an insane person before and he certainly never imagined that it'd be this frightening. His words were forced and it was a war not to stutter, "Thank you, thank you very much."

Anderson chuckled, a sound that was guaranteed to make all but the stoutest of heart weak at the knees. "It's not me ye should be thanking. Thank our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ." Anderson then started to cross himself, "Oor father, who art in heaven, thy kingdom come, thy will be done as it is in heaven, give us this day our daily bread and forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us. Amen."

His prayer was said in a rather soothing tone, from the way he said it, one might actually believe that he was a real priest with an interest in forgiveness. But, Anderson's real interest in forgiveness was almost null. Forgiveness is for Jesus, Anderson had a different mission.

Edward tried to get through to Anderson with reason, "Look, we want no trouble. We just want to leave peacefully."

Anderson cocked his head, "I'm nae fool, I can see the fear in yer eyes. Those who have faith in our lord have nothing to fear."

"Please, we're exhausted; we just want to go home."

Surprisingly, Alexander relented. "Aright, off with ye."

Jasper looked to Edward with relief and a little surprise. This crazy priest didn't look like he was a supporter of gay rights. And based off what they'd seen, he'd be more than able to slay the two homosexual men.

Neither Jasper nor Edward wanted to dally, so they began to sprint towards the mouth of the alleyway.

Suddenly Anderson hollered, "Hold it!"

Jasper and his companion stopped, they had no wish to test if they could outrun the priest. Their feet hit the pavement as if they were made of lead. Jasper protested, "Look Father, we haven't done anything wrong, so just leave us alone."

Anderson chortled, "Oh, ah'm not punishing ye. Ah just wanted a handshake." The mad lawyer had gone from outright hostile to deceitful and sinister. Anderson was no fool, he saw the way those two men looked at each other. They looked at one another like a man looks at a woman.

But rather than slay the two outright, Anderson was simply playing with them. Drawing out the tension and maybe gathering a bit of evidence.

Strutting forward, Anderson lazily held out his hand, which was as wide as the steering wheel of Edward's Volvo. He leered and raised an eyebrow. The two sodomites were looking at his hand like it was radioactive. How reversed from the usual scenario.

Without waiting for one of the boys to take his hand, Anderson lunged and took the hand of the blond one. Shaking rather violently, Anderson nearly lifted Jasper off the ground.

Then something caught Anderson's eye. Barely visible in the moonlight, there was a pink stamp on Jasper's hand. The stamp in question was a re-entry stamp for the gay bar Jasper and Edward had been cruising.

Edward's eyes widened when he too saw the stamp. It had been years since Edward had bothered with actually taking one of those silly stamps. He'd been too busy screwing the people that handed them out. But Jasper was a new guy; of course he'd get a stamp.

Anderson's face twisted into a cruel sneer. Like Edward he too understood the meaning of the pink stamp. As mentioned before, Anderson wasn't stupid, he had a plan. He didn't just spend all his free time dismembering sinners. He spent a good chunk of his free time planning.

What he planned for was the extinction of all the sinners in this city, gangsters, muggers, rapists, homosexuals, pedophiles and Canadians. Anderson had a dozen master schemes in the works with the intent of purifying Seattle by fire. A very small part of one of those master schemes involved planting bombs in every gay business in town and blowing them up when they're full of people.

As strange as it seemed, Anderson had the address and name of every gay of business and establishment committed to memory. "So, ye know each other. Perhaps ye know each other a little too well?"

Edward finally stuttered, "N-N-No, we're just friends."

Anderson closed in on Jasper and Edward, his massive stride counting for two of Edward's regular steps. "Perhaps ye're friends tha' have lain together?"

Jasper pleaded, "No Father, I'm a practicing Catholic. We haven't done anything."

Anderson's fist clenched, "A practicing Catholic, ye say? Ah knew a practicing Catholic once, an' he loved the altar girls. Ah pinned him to the wall like a cockroach on a thumbtack, then I emasculated him and let him bleed out."

SCHING

A bayonet fell out of Anderson's sleeve, which he caught.

SCHING

Anderson caught the bayonet that slid out of his other sleeve. "Here's what ah think. Ah think that ye have sinned. Ah won't judge ye, that's the Lord's place only. What ah will do is send ye off to judgment."

Suddenly, Anderson began to spin the bayonets in his hands in a display of showmanship worthy of the downed Ocelot. With determination and coordination, Anderson slammed the two blades together to form a cross of steel sharp enough to behead a man with a twitch.

The two pieces of Vatican steel slid against each other, throwing off sparks and casting a terrifying glow on Anderson's stubble covered face. "If a man lies with a man as he lies with a woman, both of them has done what is detestable, THEY MUST BE PUT TO DEATH! AME-"

THUNK!

Anderson faltered as somebody pegged him in the head with a rock. Enraged, Anderson looked up to gaze into the hard eyes of his attackers.

There at the mouth of the alleyway stood two good old Greek boys, armed with a pipe and a shovel respectively. Finally came to the aid of Jasper and Edward were Peter Costas and Sweet Kapoyanis.

Peter looked at Anderson like dog shit on the bottom of his shoe, "Back off, retard, or we'll kick your head in."

Anderson growled, "Ye are interfering with the Lord's work, for that ye will surely be punished."

Peter scoffed, "I'm shitting myself with fear."

Kapoyanis sneered and held up his shove, "I'm going to tear your ass apart, you psycho."

Anderson cocked his head, "Have we met?"

Kapoyanis jabbed his shovel in Anderson's direction, "Yeah, you burned down my dad's massage parlor and killed all the massage girls."

Peter looked over to Sweet, "Massage parlor? What the fuck are you talking about? Your dad runs a brothel!"

Sweet Kapoyanis defended himself, "That's just a rumor; my dad runs a legitimate massage parlor."

"It's full of hookers; nobody goes to your dad's place for a massage. Look, I don't give a fuck what you or your dad do, just pull your head out of your ass."

The false priest's challenge issued forth, "I don't know ye, I've burned plenty a den o' inequity and killed many a Greek, idolatrous bastards that ye are."

Peter blinked; this guy did not just say what he did. "Would you fucking repeat that for me?"

Anderson sneered, "I said that ye Greeks are all a lot o' idolatrous bastards that drink, rape, loot and eat to excess. An' that's just the heathen gods ye worship. Since yer kind split away from the mother church, yer entire culture has fallen into the gutter with the gypsies and barbarians."

Every the eloquent speaker, Peter challenged, "Fuck you, fuck the church. I'm a fucking heathen and I'm proud of it. You want a piece of me? Come get it."

Screaming loudly, Peter and Sweet Kapoyanis charged. "MOVE", he screamed to Edward.

Thinking fast, Edward grabbed Jasper's arm and pulled him down. Not a second too soon either, Anderson's blade sliced just above Jasper's head, slicing away a lock of blond hair.

Peter and Kapoyanis both screamed, "AERA!"

Anderson screamed, "FOR THE LORD!"

And then without warning, Dennis stepped from around the mouth of the alley and flung an oil drum at Anderson's head.

Seventy pounds of hollow steel sailed over the heads of the two Greek brawlers and struck Anderson right in the face.

For an instant there was the sound of metal screeching combined with a dull thud. Between the force of Dennis's throw and Anderson's running speed, the oil drum crumpled on itself like a crushed beer can.

A second or two passed before the ruined steel barrel fell off of Anderson's face. He was really starting to look like a mess. His eyeglasses were shattered and his eyes were rolling around in their sockets. A near perfect imprint of his face could be seen in the bottom of the drum.

Anderson weaved around just as Dmitri and Felix had done moments ago. Alexander felt like his neck was made of rubber, his head lolled each and every way.

The off the books assassin of the church was helpless, he couldn't see and he could barely stand. Suddenly, an unseen assailant kicked him right in the groin. The sheerest agony of the act forced Anderson to his knees. He should not have forgotten his protective cup.

Kapoyanis nodded with approval as Peter sacked Alexander Anderson. Now it was his turn to bat. Raising his shovel like a golf club, he called out, "Fore!" The brand new shovel sailed in a shiny arc before striking Anderson in the side of the head, knocking him out cold.

Anderson was now as animated as five hundred pounds of brick.

His rest into unconsciousness was not an easy one. Sweet Kapoyanis began to kick at the downed Catholic, "How do you like THAT? That GOOD enough for you?"

Jasper and Edward lay on the ground, holding hands with white knuckles. Honestly, Jasper didn't know how many more shocks he'd be able to take tonight. He wanted Edward Cullen, but fate seemed determined to sabotage his efforts to get to the object of his desire.

Edward too was drained from the tremendous amounts of adrenaline that had entered and exited his system. Feeling as stiff as a board, Edward began to slowly help Jasper up.

Ignoring the various bodies littering the alleyway, Peter stepped on Ocelot as he walked over to Edward. He saw Edward holding hands with the tall blond doofus. Internally, Peter shook his head; Edward really needed to improve his taste in men.

Concerned for his friend's health, Peter inquired, "Ed, you alright?"

Edward took a deep breath, "We're fine, Peter." Not I'm fine, we're fine.

An introduction was in order; Edward explained to Jasper, "Jasper, this is Peter Costas. Peter, this is Jasper."

Like the Greek gentleman that his mother had raised him to be, Peter shook Jasper's hand far more gently than Anderson had. "Nice to meet you."

"Likewise", Jasper responded.

Approaching fast was Sweet Kapoyanis and Dennis. Kapoyanis seemed to be upset with Dennis, "Where the fuck were you?"

Dennis responded offhandedly, "I was finding a weapon."

Kapoyanis raged, "We bought you a weapon! At home depot, the sledgehammer!"

Dennis huffed, "It wasn't my sledgehammer."

"Your sledgehammer is at your house, ON THE OTHER SIDE OF TOWN!"

Dennis shrugged, "Oh well, I did good, didn't I Pete?"

Peter turned to face the human gorilla, "Yeah, you did great Dennis. Let's just get rid of the bodies right now."

Kapoyanis smirked at Edward, "You don't mind lending us a hand do you, gay lords?" He chuckled at his joke as Peter reprimanded him.

"Come on Sweet, cut these guys a break." Kapoyanis just shrugged and went to help Peter with the bodies. Putting their weapons on the ground, Peter grabbed the late Dmitri by the ankles while Kapoyanis grabbed the dead Russian's ankles.

Dennis, the only person capable of it, lifted Anderson onto his shoulders and started to follow his two buddies.

Jasper looked to Edward with worry on his face. The lad with blond hair was that like Anderson, these rescuers would turn into attackers. "Who are these people?"

"Peter is my good buddy. I did some photography work for his dad's construction company. He's straight though, but that's alright."

Peter held his end of the cadaver effortlessly with one hand. With his other hand, he pulled the lid off of the garbage can. Likewise, Dennis pulled the lid off of the nearest garbage can and stuffed Anderson into it head first.

With a little more effort, the two Greek lads dumped Dmitri into the garbage pale so that his two legs were sticking out. With minimal effort, Felix joined Dmitri in the garbage can, only it was an arm sticking out.

Dennis asked Peter, "What about the old guy, the one that's still bleeding?"

"There's not enough room in the garbage cans, just leave him."

Kapoyanis called over to Edward and Jasper, who were sitting inside of Edward's bright, shiny Volvo. "Hey you queers, go get the shovel and the pipe! We paid good money for those. And don't touch it with your bare hands, use a tissue!"

Groaning, Jasper gestured for Edward to remain seated, "its okay, I'll get it."

Edward wanted to do the chivalrous thing, but he was far too grateful for a chance to sit down.

Dennis and Kapoyanis were leaning next to Kapoyanis car, a busted up, rusted pickup truck that belonged to Kapoyanis dad. The truck was red, partly through the paint and partly through rust. The aged machine recieved little maintenance and took three miles to reach a complete stop at anything faster than thirty miles per hour.

As Jasper walked towards the old truck, Peter walked towards the Volvo.

Edward sat in the driver's seat and jumped slightly when his rough and tough friend started to talk to him, "How are you hanging in there?"

Edward gave that lopsided grin of his, he usually only used it when he was nervous or trying to seduce somebody, "Other than being a little rattled and slightly in love, it's smooth sailing."

Peter nodded; he wished that his girlfriend looked at him the way that Jasper looked at Edward, "Alright, I don't care what you do, just as long as you're honest with me."

"I could never be anything but honest with you, Peter."

"Thanks".

Jasper was halfway between the two cars. Peter was with Edward. Sweet Kapoyanis was with Dennis at the really shitty pickup truck.

It was at that moment that twenty Asian gang members burst out of the nearest building and started to charge at the group of interlopers. The twenty odd, short men in gang colors shrieked curses and threats in their native language.

Peter shot up like a button inside of him had been hit, "Oh shit, Vietnamese!" Going full into battle mode, Peter ordered Edward, "Get behind me and get the hell out of here."

Kapoyanis and Dennis had been equally jolted by the arrival of the Vietnamese. Kapoyanis grinned, turning up the corners of his black moustache; he'd been itching for a better fight than Anderson had offered.

Dennis had no expression on his eyebrow-less face, he was too stupid to know anything except that it was time to fight.

As the three fighters ran to engage the Vietnamese hand to hand, Edward launched himself out of the Volvo towards a terrified Jasper. He just reached Jasper as the brawlers clashed with the gang members.

* * *

Thank you for reading, to those of you who have story alerts, I'd advise you not to miss the next chapter. It'll be the fight of the century, folks. See the most epic battle your eyes have ever lain on! Vietnamese Gangs versus three guys, dont' miss it. After this chapter, I'll do some writing for Hellsing Trek. Thanks to all my loving reviewers :)

Ta

Master of the Boot


	5. Vietnam War

Over the Top: Terror on Gay Street

Chapter Five: Vietnam War

Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight, Metal Gear or the KGB. Those are owned by Stephanie Meyer, Sega and Vladimir Putin. Also note, this story is rated M. So you young uns, click the back button while you still can.

Side Note: This story is based heavily off of another fanfiction story called Over the  
Top by starfish422. Fans of that story can think of this as an AU fanfiction  
of that fanfiction. It begins with the same budding relationship between  
Edward and Jasper and takes a disturbing twist when a slew of colorful new  
characters are added. This story begs the question - how far would their love  
have gone had drunken KGB agents became involved? Fasten your seat belts  
folks, and enjoy the ride.

Thank you to starfish422 for your permission to borrow your take on Jasper  
and Edward as well as certain scenes from your story.  
OTT can be found in the Twilight community, Some like it hot.

The trio of brawlers slammed head on into the tidal wave of gang members. It was amazing; it would have made Satan's war against heaven seem like a bore.

Peter, Kapoyanis and Dennis all stood back to back, each covering the other man's vulnerable spots. Fists shot out, powered by muscles honed to near perfection. Fists met with chins and eyes, hardened by dozens of fights in as many weeks.

The Vietnamese gang members were like a tidal wave. The hit the Greeks, but by their sheer momentum they kept charging forward with frenzy and fury.

Jasper thought that he knew fear, not five minutes ago he was almost molested by a Russian cowboy and threatened by a guy dressed like a priest. Now he was really scared. Immediately, he dropped the tools he was carrying so to better run.

Jasper began to yell in distress as the Vietnamese chased after him like they wanted to eat him. Their language was strange and harsh, and Jasper was willing to bet his bottom dollar that they weren't trying to say, "Hello."

Edward panicked, why was this shit happening to him? Was God mad at him or something? Because it was a little late for that, he'd been screwing men like there was no tomorrow since high school.

Quickly Edward came to a decision; Peter couldn't protect him, he had troubles of his own. The only option under the circumstances was to cut and run. But what about Jasper? Well, Edward hardly knew Jasper; it shouldn't be too hard to leave him behind. Sure, and while he was at it, Edward might also try to start fusion between his teeth.

So, Edward did a chivalrous thing. He started running with Jasper.

Jasper cursed the choice of shoes that he'd made tonight. Loafers looked smashing with the suit he wore, but they were useless for running. The Vietnamese had an advantage over him; they were all wearing high quality running shoes, probably stolen.

The result of a simple choice in footwear meant that the gang members were gaining on him. Lungs bursting, Jasper willed himself to run faster, but it was no use. Just as it seemed that they were about to catch him, an angel came to his rescue.

Edward ran to Jasper's side and started to pull him forward. Edward was a good runner, he was to long distance and springing what Peter was to brawling. He dragged Jasper ahead of the gang members like a parent pulling along their child. Under difference circumstances, Jasper might have found Edward's uncanny running ability to be quite sexy.

Peter wasn't concerned about Edward at the moment. He knew that Edward would do the smart thing and get out while the going was good. Edward was smart that way. While Peter wasn't quite as smart as Edward, he was tenacious and had a rather large surplus of willpower.

With that surplus of willpower and doggedness, Peter was just doing what came naturally. In his own mind this was no different from hitting the practice dummies at the gym. A guy would fly at Peter but he wouldn't flinch, not a bit.

Instead, Peter's right arm would shoot out and pop the guy right on the chin. Then the guy would fall back like he regretted his life. Or some guy might make a clumsy punch at him; he'd see it from a mile off. Prepared as can be, Peter would deflect the guy's punch and give him a shot from the left. His good left fist would shoot out like a spring and get the guy right on the nose.

Sweet Kapoyanis was a little like Peter, he loved to fight, but was still less intelligent than Peter or Edward. It wasn't so much that Sweet Kapoyanis had an indomitable will, it was more that he was an ornery son of a bitch with a mean streak a mile long. Some people said, "Hello" to strangers, Kapoyanis punched them in the face.

Dennis, he was just dumb. Surely there were animals at the zoo which had greater cognitive ability than he did. Every punch he threw, three gang members fell down.

From the corner of his eye, Peter saw a gang member heading towards Kapoyanis with a baseball bat in his hands. Kapoyanis failed to notice the armed assailant.

Reaching to his far left, Peter dealt a devastating left hook at the baseball bat carrier. There was a clatter as the bat fell to the ground. Shortly afterwards, the owner of the bat fell to the ground. The man actually folded on himself like an accordion.

Edward dared to look behind him even though his lungs were burning and his legs were screaming for rest. He and Jasper were gaining ground, if they could just keep going for a few blocks more, they might be able to lose these guys altogether.

**FASHOOOM!!!!**

There was a giant explosion as something huge and Christian exploded from the garbage can he'd been forced too. Bags of garbage and the twin corpses of Felix and Dmitri were flung in all directions.

The sheer force of the explosion made the two gay men and the fifteen odd gangsters stop dead in their tracks.

For a moment, Edward's vision was blocked by a rain of garbage, a foul smelling rain that made him regret touching his hands to his face. Jasper was starting to get a look through the garbage rain when Felix's headless corpse landed at his feet, an errant spurt of blood washing over his shoes.

"YEEAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!"

Alexander Anderson screamed to the heavens like Tyrannosaurus-Rex standing over a fresh kill. He threw his head back, screaming once more. And with the ferocity of a rabid animal, he threw his head forward and growled at his opponents, white gloved hands outstretched like demonic tree branches.

Anderson was breathing heavily, drool ran down his chin and his eyes were wide as saucers. He was truly the spitting image of stark raving insanity, free of compassion or self preservation.

One of the lenses of his glasses was shattered while the other lens reflected the streetlight in a terrifying glare that resembled a soulless white orb.

Never once taking his eyes off of the object of his hatred, he got down into a pre-run stance and snarled, "_As it is written, there is no one righteous, no one_." And then he charged.

Alexander Anderson felt like hell. No, hell was probably worse. To be more accurate, he felt unbelievably crappy. His head hurt and his testicles felt the size of tea cups. But he was breathing and he was moving. He was in a garbage can.

Groggy, Anderson struggled to recollect the events of how he wound up in a garbage can. The first thing that he recalled was a pair of eyes and a voice.

The eyes were green, both like and unlike his own. The voice was Russian sounding and seemed to go on and on without end. Oh yes, now it was all coming back to him.

He gloriously struck down the Russian cowboy in God's name, shattering the cowboy's skull right after slicing off his arm.

He was about to kill the two deviants when those Greeks and their pet ape intervened. One of them hit him with a shovel and the other kicked him in the sweets.

Adrenaline, like fire seemed to fill his veins. God given rage filled his mind and turned his vision crimson. Throwing out his mighty limbs, he blasted the garbage can to shreds and sent its contents flying everywhere like parade confetti.

He wasn't aware of his heavy breathing, frothing at the mouth or clenching his fingers as if he had a throat in them. All he was aware of and only dimply was the teeming mass of humanity that seemed to be afraid of him.

On impulse, he got down into a running stance and quoted the bible, his accent temporarily lessening, "As it is written, there is nae one righteous, nae one."

And then screaming as loud as he was able to, he charged forward into the mass of God's enemies.

His massive yet proportionate bulk struck his enemies and they were all scattered like birds. Edward felt Anderson's bulk strike him and he could have sworn that it was a truck that knocked the wind out of his lungs and knocked him away from Jasper.

Jasper, the name seemed familiar. Why was he thinking of that now while he should have been trying to get his breath back?

The Vietnamese gangsters posed no difficulty for Anderson. A few were left standing and they were brave enough to try and take on Anderson. Brave and a little foolish.

As one may threw himself screaming at Anderson, the seven foot Scotsman struck first. Anderson didn't punch like Peter did, he wasn't out to have good time; he was out to murder. Cold blooded, hot blooded, premeditated or spur of the moment; Anderson was out for murder.

He struck the first gangster just on the sternum with his giant fist. There was a sick snapping noise and the blow raised the man off the ground. Such was the force behind Anderson's punch that the man's ribs were broken and the splintered ends were driven into the lungs.

Next, Anderson threw a perfect martial arts kick. A man took the kick on the chin; Anderson's size seventeen foot snapped his neck, disintegrated his jawbone and sent him flying off his feet.

In Anderson's eyes there was something horrible. It was a warped sentience, a malignant intent. A hideous, mutant madness possessed Alexander's mind, driving him beyond the limits of human brutality and bestial fury.

Peter and company were mopping up the last of the Vietnamese, twenty of them against three of Peter and his own. Next time, a gambler might want to bet on Peter and friends.

Finally, Peter struck down his last Vietnamese. The three men were finally allowed a chance to catch their breath. Anderson was battling against the last ten Vietnamese and Edward and Jasper were on opposite sides of the psychotic priest.

The troika of brawlers was about to engage Anderson and the remaining gangsters, but something amazing happened. An entire apartment building just emptied. Nearly two hundred Vietnamese gang members came pouring out of the building.

Oh shit!

And unlike the first wave of men, these guys were carrying weapons! They were armed with knives, forks, clubs, pots, pans, hockey sticks, swords, hatchets, guns and all manner of strange objects. One guy came armed with a blow dryer. Another man went along, armed with his pet parrot.

Peter bellowed to the night sky and all his allies, "RETREAT!" So they'd defeated the recon squad, so what? Now they had to face the entire army.

As fast as his short legs could take him, Peter ran immediately for Edward's Volvo. "Eddie, move your fucking ass!"

In short order, Peter was sitting in the passenger's seat of Edward's stylish car. Sweet Kapoyanis protested, "Let's take my car!"

Dennis jumped into the back seat as Peter responded, "Your dad's truck is a piece of shit. This thing goes much faster!"

But Kapoyanis wouldn't let up, "That's a gay car, we could catch AIDS!"

"Get in the car, you fucking pansy! Besides, your dad put a live lamb in the back seat of the cab for three days, that thing smells like shit!"

"My dad had no place to put that lamb for Easter!"

Edward was shaking; he couldn't even measure the amount of adrenaline that was in his system. He was terrified, for himself, for Peter and for Jasper. In all his life, fear like this had been merely an abstract concept. He'd dealt with homophobes before, but they didn't wield bayonets or six guns.

He was shaken out of his stiffness by Peter's voice. "ED, GET THE FUCK IN THE CAR!"

Sore from his sprint with Jasper, Edward nevertheless ran towards the drivers seat of his car. Anderson was being swarmed by the gang members and didn't notice the approaching gang army. Men would surround him, climb up on him and he would pick them up like dolls and throw them aside.

Fumbling with his keys, Edward jumped into the driver's seat with a little help from his Greek pal. Jasper had the rotten luck of being seated next to Kapoyanis and Dennis. Kapoyanis looked at Jasper like he was radioactive. Dennis just looked at him and asked, "How does it work? I mean, both of the parts are the same."

Jasper looked at Dennis, "What are you talking about?"

"Sex between two guys, how does it work?"

Jasper didn't get a chance to answer because a gang member with a frying pan appeared at the side of the car with his weapon raised. Jasper screamed in the most unmanly fashion while Kapoyanis cleaned the gang member's clock. Kapoyanis scowled at the homosexual who seemed to be unable to fight.

As more gang members surrounded the car, Edward finally got the engine to roar to life.

BANG!

One of the gang members went down, intercepting a bullet that was intended for Edward. From the mouth of the alleyway stood Revolver Ocelot, gushing buckets of blood and sporting a cracked skull but still very much alive and angry.

Ocelot snarled and cocked his weapon for another shot.

* * *

Thank you for reading, to those of you who have story alerts, I'd advise you not to miss the next chapter. The Fighting is not over yet, not by a long shot. Before long, we'll have cops and Koreans thrown into the mix. Next chapter will feature the best car chase you've ever seen. Have a good day and keep breathing :)

Ta

Master of the Boot


	6. Car Chase City

Over the Top: Terror on Gay Street

Chapter Six: Car Chase City

Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight, Metal Gear or the KGB. Those are owned by Stephanie Meyer, Sega and Vladimir Putin. Also note, this story is rated M. So you young uns, click the back button while you still can.

Side Note: This story is based heavily off of another fanfiction story called Over the  
Top by starfish422. Fans of that story can think of this as an AU fanfiction  
of that fanfiction. It begins with the same budding relationship between  
Edward and Jasper and takes a disturbing twist when a slew of colorful new  
characters are added. This story begs the question - how far would their love  
have gone had drunken KGB agents became involved? Fasten your seat belts  
folks, and enjoy the ride.

Thank you to starfish422 for your permission to borrow your take on Jasper  
and Edward as well as certain scenes from your story.  
OTT can be found in the Twilight community, Some like it hot.

* * *

Ocelot snarled and raised his weapon for another shot.

Edward's tires screeched and raised smoke as Ocelot's second bullet fired. The lead projectile ripped through Edward's headrest, showering the inhabitants of the car in foam.

Edward couldn't help but scream as the car shot forward under the power of a foreign manufactured engine. Edward continued to scream as a dozen Vietnamese gangsters grabbed onto the vehicle.

Swerving sharply to the left, a half dozen of the men fell off the car and went rolling. But the Asian men were dogged. They began to pull themselves up and into the passenger area. That was where Peter and company came in, doing what they did best.

Dennis slammed the heads of two gangsters together, lights out. Sweet Kapoyanis had a knuckle sandwich on half price, which he was more than willing to share with his Vietnamese friends. Peter swung around a golf club like a halberd; the instrument had been stashed into Edward's Volvo at Peter's own insistence. Now it was coming in handy.

The last gangster cursed in his native tongue before taking a five iron between the eyes. He asked for his mommy in Vietnamese before letting go and gently rolling onto the road at eighty miles an hour.

Despite that their attackers were gone, Edward did not stop screaming. In fact, Edward had never stopped screaming. His foot pressed down on the gas pedal, never letting up for an instant.

Like the high tide, the Volvo's speedometer climbed and climbed. The car raced forward as if they had the hounds of hell pursuing them.

Edward was in a state of frozen panic. He couldn't think, his heart was pounding like a jackhammer and his hands were clenched white against the steering wheel. From the back seat, Jasper looked at Edward with more concern than a mother.

Seemingly oblivious to Edward's constant screaming, Peter tried to snap Edward out of it, "Ed, slow the fuck down, you'll bring the cops down on us."

Peter was no stranger to fast driving. On the highway, Edward tended to drive like a maniac and Peter was the king of road rage when he worked as a pizza delivery boy for his uncle, Big-Nose Sam.

Kapoyanis's barking shout hurt Jasper's ear like a bullhorn, "Slow down, you faggot!"

Dennis merely looked on and clapped, he wanted Edward to go faster. The huge man was like a child on the swings, go higher!

Jasper looked at all the men in the car. Edward screamed. Peter reasoned. Kapoyanis threw homophobic slurs. Dennis looked on like a circus bear. Edward screamed. Peter trying to reason. Kapoyanis calling Edward a fag. Dennis: the same. _Edward. Peter. Sweet Kapoyanis. Dennis. Edward. Peter. Kapoyanis. Dennis. Chaos, madness, panic, Edward gradually steering the car into the wrong lane. The ever rising speedometer._

Jasper cursed, "Ah, fuck it." He quickly unbuckled his seatbelt while everybody in the car talked over each other. With a grace only seen in fairy tales, Jasper leaned forward and turned Edward's head to kiss him.

Edward screamed, even though he wanted to, he didn't know how to let up. But his perpetual scream was cut short by something heavenly. A pair of clean shaven lips was being pressed into his. He melted like butter.

A split second ago, Edward felt like he had a spring in his chest wound to snapping point. Now he couldn't remember what had ever been wrong.

A kiss never felt so right, it felt like he was being reattached to a part of himself that he never knew he lost. It was more than a kiss; it was a fusion, a synergy. There was not telling where Jasper began and Edward ended.

With respect, Edward used much too much tongue, but that was forgivable since he hadn't kissed anybody in over a decade.

Not everybody was enjoying the kiss as much as the two lovebirds. Sweet Kapoyanis gagged and wretched as if he'd eaten something past the expiring date. If only they made bleach for people's brains, then Sweet could forget this disgusting shit.

Dennis just looked and nodded, "So that's how they do it."

Even Peter was not unaffected. He winced as if he'd been slapped in the face. He liked Edward as a person very much, but he didn't want to know what Edward did on his own time. And he didn't want to see Edward, "_On the job_."

Edward was floating in the land of bliss and tongue wrestling when Peter's scream ruptured his bubble of perfect happiness. "HOLY SHIT!"

The statuesque Greek grabbed the steering wheel from Edward and jerked it hard to the right. Because of Peter's quick thinking, the Volvo narrowly missed a head on collision with another car.

Jasper fell sideways, landing on Kapoyanis legs. Naturally, that was the last place the second Greek wanted Jasper and so kicked him off.

This was one of those moments when Edward regretted knowing Peter. The short Greek fellah could tolerate homosexuality but his tolerance for stupidity was non-existent. Lip curled, Peter smacked Edward on the back on the head.

Edward put his hand to the back of his head; Peter really didn't know how to hold back on a blow. "Ow!"

"Eyes on the god damned road. Seriously man, drive like you're fucking sober." Peter wasn't done yet, "You were screaming back there like my Aunt Helen, that stupid cow."

Edward tried to defend himself, "I'm sorry I panicked, I'm just not used to that kind of stuff." Suddenly, Edward was ashamed of himself. More than once tonight he'd gone and acted like a ditzy damsel in distress from a nineteen thirties Hollywood film. What kind of man was he, a man who acted the dominant in the bedroom but was a fainting southern dame on the battlefield? That wasn't the kind of man Edward wanted to be.

His piece said, Peter let Edward go easy, "Alright, if you say so. Make a right here; I want to pick up a case of beer."

Jasper piped up, seatbelt firmly back in place, "I'd like some beer, if you don't mind?"

Kapoyanis shot him down, "No, you'll only contaminate the drinks. Why don't you drink some gay drink like a mojito or something like that?"

Peter craned himself backwards and gestured towards Jasper, "Come on Sweet, cut the guy a break. He's not going to drink from your bottle, he'll have his own." A bright red sports car pulled up behind the Volvo.

Talk of beer and drinking was put on hold when the driver of the sports car held a gun out of the window and opened fire. A bullet shattered Edward's rear light. A second one took Edward's rear view mirror. Another round hit the bumper.

Edward bit down on his lip to avoid letting out another girly scream. Driving a stolen red sports car was none other than Revolver Ocelot!

Earlier in the alleyway, Ocelot had raged at the fleeing of his foes. What should have been a simple case of sex without the possibility of rejection turned into a massive shitstorm.

After tying a tourniquet around the bleeding stump of his arm, Ocelot immediately went and hijacked a car. Given that his arm was missing just above the elbow, he hotwired the vehicle in a record amount of time. Car thieves everywhere would have been glowering with pure jealousy.

The gushing blood now slowed down to a mere drip, Ocelot's face was pale but his eyes were full of might. He didn't even bother to wipe the blood that was drying on his wrinkled face. Blood had dripped down all the way to his moustache, staining his upper lip red. It looked like he'd been drinking a cup of blood and had forgotten to wipe his face.

Revolver Ocelot took care of the steering with his knees, freeing his remaining arm for shooting.

BANG!

Ocelot fired another shot off from his Colt. A speed bump threw off his aim, causing the heavy slug to strike high of his target and hit Edward's windshield.

Kapoyanis threw himself down on Jasper's lap to avoid any further gunshots. With his hands behind his head, the son of a pimp shouted, "Who the fuck is this guy?"

BANG!

Jasper folded himself over Sweet after being startled by Ocelot's most recent shot. He enlightened Kapoyanis, "He said his name was Revolver Ocelot!"

BANG!

Dennis didn't even flinch as one of Ocelot's bullets glanced across his wide shoulder. He ignored the smoking stretch of burned flesh it created, "What's an Ocelot?" Dennis was no stranger to pain. At the boxing gym, he took punches to the face without batting an eye. When he was a kid, his dad made him run through thick fields of thorn bushes to make a man out of him. In elementary school, even the teachers beat him up. Pain was white noise for Dennis.

In his car, Ocelot used his teeth and his remaining hand to reload his revolver, unaware that he had a passenger with him.

Back at the scene of the crime, Anderson had thrown down the last of his attackers and broken them each in half. If they were lucky they'd never walk again, that was how badly Anderson had pummeled them.

Seeing a two hundred strong army of Asian gangsters had been an interesting sight for Anderson's eyes. He wanted to know if he could defeat them. Alexander had wanted to see if their endless numbers could finish him off or if his superior strength and skill could win the day. He was crazy enough to find out but smart enough to know that his original targets and the worse sinners were getting away.

It was Gods will that the most evil and not the most numerous would meet righteous death first. Just then, he had noticed the Russian cowboy speeding away in a stolen car. So that man was still alive after all Anderson had done to him. Anderson liked the cut of Ocelot's jib. He was going to like the cut of Ocelot's jib even better when he could rip it out with his bare hands and feed it to a stray dog.

Anderson snapped out of his violent fantasies just in time to see Ocelot peeling down the street in a hijacked car. Anderson hated theft; this was one more thing that Ocelot was going to have to feel pain for.

Despite his killer headache and minor chest wound, Anderson moved quickly. From his cassock he drew a grappling hook and line. After all, what kind of crime fighter would be caught dead without a grapple and line?

The grapple line was another gift from the Vatican. The thin, semi-elastic cord was not only capable of carrying a maximum load of seven hundred pounds but also made a handy improvised garrote wire and noose.

Ocelot was just starting to gear out of view. Not wasting a breath, Anderson spun the grappling hook and flung it at Ocelot's stolen vehicle.

God be praised, it hooked onto the back bumper solidly. The long, thin line went taught and then Anderson was pulled forward. The vigilante's arms felt like they'd been pulled from their sockets, but Anderson knew that wasn't the case. He'd had his arms dislocated before and it hurt much worse than this.

Ocelot abruptly took a hard right and Anderson went rolling on his side. Dragged along by the car at high speed on his stomach, Anderson could feel his skin blister and burn under the clothes. Fingers on the verge of giving way, Anderson brought his feet under his body and stood up.

He looked like a water skier, only on asphalt instead of water. Anderson rapidly felt the heat build up in his shoes. Straining his powerful arm muscles, Anderson pulled himself towards the sports car inch by agonizing inch.

Ocelot had finished reloading his gun when he heard and felt something large and heavy climb onto the back of the car. Operating on hair-trigger reflex, the Russian cowboy spun around and fired a shot at the rear window of the sports car. The bullet went through the glass but all it bit into was the end of Anderson's long coat.

Anderson finished scampering up onto the hard top of Ocelot's sports car. And what luck! There in front of him was the car carrying the two sodomites from the alleyway and their sinful Greek friends. God does indeed provide for his flock.

Kapoyanis had shoved Jasper off of him a while ago. After the last bullet, Jasper had dared to peek behind the Volvo. Crouching on top of the stolen red sports car like a gargoyle was none other than the seven foot tall Scottish priest that had tried to kill Edward and himself. Piloting the red sports car was that Russian cowboy.

Who the fuck did these people, a Russian cowboy and a mad Sottish priest, come from? Did they live here or were they just on vacation?

In the front seat, Edward and Peter were frantically trying to find something. "Where is it?" Peter shouted.

Edward kept frantically looking at the road and looking back at Ocelot. "I don't know, I thought it was here!"

Edward saw the silver glint of Ocelot's six gun and acted on a gut instinct. The car turned a sharp right, going over the sidewalk and slamming a newspaper dispenser aside. Peter was slammed onto the car door while the three backseat passengers were smooshed together like sardines.

On the roof of Ocelot's car, Anderson's coat flew out behind him like a vampire's cape. The people in the Volvo had seen him, that was good. Suddenly, the Volvo veered sharply to the right.

Ocelot hit the brakes, throwing Anderson to the hood of the car. Anderson narrowly avoided sliding off and getting run over by grabbing at the windshield wipers.

Revolver Ocelot sneered at Anderson and turned to the right wile simultaneously picking up the speed. The car's momentum threatened to throw Anderson to certain death.

SNAP!

One of the windshield wipers broke off, leaving Anderson hanging only by one hand. The giant Scotsman hung precariously, completely at the mercy of the former Spetznaz agent.

In Edward's Volvo, that feeling of panic was rising, but Edward managed to quell it. In his mind, he held an image of Jasper. Jasper had put himself in front of Edward when they were threatened by Ocelot. He'd even offered himself to Ocelot and his merry band of rapists before they could touch Edward.

Edward promised to himself that he and Jasper were going come out of this alive and well. Hell, at the very least he should ask Jasper to marry him after all this.

Peter found what he had hidden in Edward's car after finding out that his buddy was a homosexual. "I got the gun!" He pulled out a double barreled shotgun from underneath Edward's seat. Taped to the well maintained gun was a plastic bag full of shells.

Sweet Kapoyanis snapped, "Took you fucking long enough, malakas."

"Shut up, Sweet", Peter remarked back.

Ocelot's six gun barked fire again. But this time he was aiming for Anderson. The bullet hit the metal of the hood where Anderson's other hand was trying to find a purchase. That remaining windshield wiper was creaking ominously.

To Ocelot's great surprise, the guy in the passenger seat stood up with a shotgun. The Russian swerved his car with remarkable ease considering that he was driving with his knees.

**BOOM!**

The thunderous retort of Peter's shotgun made Ocelot's single action pistol sound like a popgun. The buckshot missed Ocelot's head but still managed to blow a hole in the windshield. Stray lead pellets hit Anderson in the back but were blocked by his bulletproof vest.

The two cars cruised down the road like greased lightening, both of them on the wrong side of the road. A yellow hummer made its way down the deserted roadway. The driver managed to swerve away from the high speed pursuit just in time.

The sound of shotguns and cowboy guns did not fail to attract the attention of local law enforcement. A squad car was screaming down the road after the Volvo and the sports car.

Anderson's blood started to boil as he heard the police sirens. All police were corrupt, which was why Anderson hated them so much. He could happily kill Police as easily as he could criminals. The windshield wiper could not hold him for much longer, it was time to act.

Taped to his leg, Anderson pulled off a quartet of throwing knives.

Jasper heard the police sirens and rejoiced, "Cops, we're saved. Edward, pull over!"

Sweet pulled Jasper close to him, "No we're not saved! We just beat a bunch of cops up tonight. What they'll do is shoot all of us in the back of the head!" He added, "Besides, when have cops ever helped out your kind?"

When he put it that way, thins just looked bleaker.

The police were pulling up but the speeders were not slowing down. Ocelot was wounded, not deaf. He knew what would happen if he was captured. A permanent stain would form on his reputation. The Great Revolver Ocelot who had beaten Liquid Snake and done battle with Solid Snake, taken down by some lousy donut eaters.

Three slugs left in his gun, Ocelot took a deep breath and aimed. The first bullet struck the police sirens, shutting them up. The second round hit the driver's partner in the head. But before he could kill the driver, two throwing knives sailed out from the side and struck the front and back tires of the police cruiser.

Shocked by the death of his partner and losing control of his squad car, the surviving policeman did his best to avoid hitting a light pole. His efforts went in vane though. The police car wrapped itself around the street lamp like a piece of clay, spraying glass and pieces of car all over the area.

Ocelot looked on the right side of the hood from his perspective. The Scotsman was still hanging there. He'd dug his fingers into the gap between the hood and the windshield and was grinning like a clown. His free hand held two more throwing daggers. The passing streetlights alternately shone his glasses with a fierce glare and turned them into darkened pits.

Ocelot's eyes widened as he realized what Anderson meant to do. Anderson didn't miss; he never missed when he meant to kill. One dagger burst the front tire and then one burst the back tire.

Like the unfortunate cops, Ocelot lost control of his vehicle. Sparks flew from the now exposed wheels. Giving his adversary one final grin, Anderson pushed off of the car with his mighty legs and threw himself into a roll.

He dropped his pistol to allow his remaining hand to grab the steering wheel, but it wasn't enough. The front of the stolen red sports car slammed into the unforgiving side of a building. No human being could have survived the impact.

Edward watched the events with the squad car and Anderson in his side mirror. He didn't know much about Anderson, but that guy should have been an abortion. An individual that insane, that out of his mind, running free, sent chills down Edward's spine.

He felt something. Something very good was what he felt. Edward became aware that Jasper was watching him. But once again, that good feeling was cut short by Peter. "LOOK OUT!"

Edward yelled and slammed on the brakes of his Volvo.

* * *

And that's all for this chapter. You know, personally I love cliff hangers. They give me a reason to keep coming back :) Thanks for reading and thanks for reviewing. Remember to check out the inspiration for this, Over the Top. Next time, the battle really heats up. Hope you've enjoyed this car chase.

Ta

Master of the Boot

* * *

Thank you for reading, to those of you who have story alerts, I'd advise you not to miss the next chapter. The Fighting is not over yet, not by a long shot. Before long, we'll have cops and Koreans thrown into the mix. Next chapter will feature the best car chase you've ever seen. Have a good day and keep breathing :)

Ta

Master of the Boot


	7. City of War

Over the Top: Terror on Gay Street

Chapter Seven: City of War

Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight, Metal Gear or the KGB. Those are owned by Stephanie Meyer, Sega and Vladimir Putin. Also note, this story is rated M. So you young uns, click the back button while you still can.

Side Note: This story is based heavily off of another fanfiction story called Over the  
Top by starfish422. Fans of that story can think of this as an AU fanfiction  
of that fanfiction. It begins with the same budding relationship between  
Edward and Jasper and takes a disturbing twist when a slew of colorful new  
characters are added. This story begs the question - how far would their love  
have gone had drunken, soulless KGB agents became involved? Fasten your seat belts  
folks, and enjoy the ride.

Thank you to starfish422 for your permission to borrow your take on Jasper  
and Edward as well as certain scenes from your story.  
OTT can be found in the Twilight community, Some like it hot.

* * *

Edward yelled and slammed on the brakes of his Volvo.

**KER-SMASH!**

The expensive Volvo crashed into a school bus full of nuns.

The Mother Superior was just turning on the bus's engine when she heard and felt the impact of another vehicle. The nuns aboard the yellow bus started panicking, but a single word from Mother Superior was enough to quiet them down.

The doors of the bus hissed open and the Mother Superior walked through to confront those who had rammed them.

From the smashed wreckage of a silver Volvo were five men of dubious moral character. Two of the men dressed themselves in decadent and expensive clothing, they reeked of homosexuality. Two more of the men had the dress and appearance of grease balls. The final man looked like something escaped from the zoo; Mother Superior honestly believed that Dennis was a shaven ape.

Mother superior addressed the seeming leader of the group, the Greek or Italian looking man in a tank top and golden chain around his neck. Both of the Greek boys dressed this way but Mother Superior was addressing the shorter one with thick black hair. "You men, were you drunk?"

"What?" Edward asked stupidly. He'd taken a good shaking in the crash; fortunately, the airbags had done their work properly. He didn't know about Peter, he'd been facing backwards with no seatbelt; he might have sustained internal injuries. Jasper looked okay; he'd been the only other person in the car wearing a seatbelt.

Jasper attempted to answer the nun's query, Peter was still a little dazed, "No, we're not drunk but we're in an awful hurry." He made to drag Edward away from their present location but the head nun blocked them off.

"You can't just crash your vehicle into us and then expect to walk away. You're staying right here."

He didn't know how to explain their situation to the nun, so he gave her the abbreviated version. "Look, there are some people who have it in for us coming this way and we have to leave right now."

Mother Superior looked at the men with suspicion, "Are you men criminals? If you are, then I refuse to let you pass! Sisters, call the police!"

The nuns aboard the bus had opened the windows of the vehicle so to better hear of the exchange with the amoral men. A nun named Maria affirmed Mother Superior's order, "Yes, Mother Superior, I'll call the police!" The nuns only had one cell phone with them and that was for emergencies.

Sweet Kapoyanis didn't like the idea of the cops getting involved. His, Peter and Dennis's descriptions were probably being circled with the whole police force. Besides, he fucking hated nuns. "Get the fuck out of my way, you fucking penguin!"

Edward wanted to shout but didn't know what to say. Despite Kapoyanis sentiments, he thought that calling the police was a great idea. Unfortunately, things were about to get even more complicated.

Sweet and the head nun were screaming and verbally abusing each other. Sweet was just threatening to drive his fist through Mother Superior's head when Peter beat him to the punch.

Peter, having regained his senses and soothed his wild hair, shot out with his right fist and punched Mother Superior right on the chin.

Mother Superior's head flew backwards and then snapped forward like a bobble head. The expression on her face was one of shock.

Peter didn't give pause, he punched Mother superior one, two, three more times. Each time except the last, her head seemed to snap forward. On the third punch, Mother Superior went down like felled tree.

Sister Maria saw Mother Superior go down and she shouted in rage, "Sisters, _permítanos matanza esos bastardos_!"

You see, these weren't ordinary nuns. These were bar fighting, ass-kicking nuns from the worst neighborhood in Mexico City. Preaching the will of Jesus was no easy thing where these nuns came from. Just like the Shaolin Monks of yore, forced to defend themselves against bandits, these nuns knew how to take care of themselves. They were like celibate Amazons.

Utilizing years of street fighting instinct, the nuns went for their weapons, grabbing up broken bottles, switchblades, pieces of wood with nails in them and knuckledusters.

Forty nuns came pouring out of the school bus like a troop of murderous penguins. Edward's heart dropped to the ground. Was this shit ever going to fucking end? He barely even had the energy to run away.

Peter cursed in his native language and pulled Edward towards the smashed Volvo. With any luck, the shotgun and the golf clubs were still intact.

Jasper hid behind Edward who hid behind Peter.

Hoisting a golf club, Sweet shouted, "Where's Hong, you said he'd meet us two minutes from here!"

The shotgun was fine but it'd take forever to find all the shells that'd spilled out of the bag, so Peter was forced to help himself to a golf club. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Dennis grab two nuns and slam their heads together.

Peter thrust the shotgun into Edward's arms and brusquely instructed him, "Get the shells, I'll hold them off." Then, he left his gay friend to battle the minions of the Catholic Church, as if they hadn't had their fill of that with Anderson.

Edward began to pick up the shotgun shells from the floor of his totaled car. He told Jasper, "Jasper . . ." What? What could he tell Jasper? That he'd protect him? That things would be alright? He could barely take care of himself, what words of comfort could he offer to Jasper that would matter?

He didn't have to say anything, because at that moment, a parrot started attacking Jasper. The colorful tropical bird cawed and squawked phrases in an Asian language that Edward didn't speak. Jasper cursed and shouted as the bird pecked and clawed at him.

Acting on instinct, Edward grabbed the shotgun by the barrel and swung it like a bat.

Jasper shrieked in pain as the killer parrot tried to gouge out his eyes. When all of the sudden, he heard a strangled squawk and then the bird stopped attacking him. Looking down on the ground, he saw the bird laying there, twitching slightly. Its tongue lolled out.

Standing in front of him, Edward held the shotgun like it was a baseball bat. Edward was breathing in a level fashion. He looked so strong and confident, it filled Jasper with a positive emotion, maybe it was pride, maybe it wasn't, but it was a lovely emotion. "Thanks for saving me that time."

"Don't mention it."

Jasper's positive feeling quickly vanished when he saw two hundred or more Vietnamese gangsters moving towards them as Peter and friends battled the nuns that clearly knew how to fight and kill. Currently, a nun was trying to stab Peter in the neck with a corkscrew.

The Vietnamese gangsters were running down the street, they were swinging from ropes and climbing down the sides of buildings like monkeys. One of them was swearing vengeance for the death of his parrot.

Things looked bleak. To make things worse, Anderson was running down the street like rhino that'd had his horn chopped off.

Alexander's heart was full of rage and joy. Rage that his foes had lasted this long. Joy because he now had some allies, the Sisterhood of Christ was here to aid him, how fortuitous.

In each hand he held four bayonets like they were long, metal claws and a spare bayonet was held, clenched between his teeth. In the long and short, Anderson was scary enough to star in a horror movie with Vincent Price.

Peter had to admit, this fight looked hopeless. He and the guys would fight for as long as they could. A nun that tried to give him a right hook missed his head. Peter drove his knee as hard as he could into the nun's stomach. Chivalry towards women is an alien concept to Greek culture.

Suddenly, the cavalry arrived. At the opposite end of the street where the Vietnamese were swarming, there was Hong, Peter's Korean pal.

Hong was a Korean restaurateur with post traumatic stress syndrome from some war. He and his crew were from South Korea and boasted as reputation as the meanest boys in all of Southeast Asia.

And by the looks of things, Hong had brought the entire Korean community with him.

_Previously_

_Grandfather Kwan was one of the most revered figures in the South Korean community of Seattle. Nobody knew for sure how old he was, but if it gave any clue, his youngest of eight sons was ninety years old. _

_Grandfather Kwan was meditating before an unplugged television when young Hong entered the room. _

_Hong was breathless, but he still showed proper respect to his elder. He got down and bowed, waiting for the elder's invitation to speak. _

_"What troubles you?" _

_"Kwan-seonbae, Peter and his companions are in trouble and they require our aid." _

_Kwan carefully chewed the words that Hong had spoke, "Costas-ssi is a good construction worker. He renovated my bathroom and my living room at a fraction of the cost and time quoted by his competitors. You may take what aid you seem necessary." _

_Hong bowed lower, "Thank you." _

_As he left, Kwan shook his head; the young people were always forgetting their manners. _

_Now_

Edward saw the approaching horde of Koreans, but he had no idea that they were Korean or even if they were friendly. He grabbed Jasper by the hand and did all that he could, run.

He took Jasper to the nearest place free of gangs, freaks, fighters and vigilantes. There was a graveyard nearby which looked very peaceful. The moon was bright in the sky and it was an inviting glow over the cemetary. It didn't looke like the haunted home of zombies, vampires and ghosts. It looked like a lovely, well tended place of ancestor veneration. If you removed the tombstones, it would have been the perfect place for Edward and Jasper to have a romantic late night rendezvous.

Anderson veered in after them.

In about five seconds, the final battle would begin.

* * *

Sorry if you thought that was a short chapter, but I promise that the next one will have the best Battle scene you've seen to date. I'm sorry If I've offended any Koreans or Vietnamese in this. I'm not Korean and I don't know much about Korean Culture. Next chapter will also feature a kung-fu Master, you don't want to miss it. If you have any suggestions or requsts, tell me in your reviews and I'll see what I can do. :D

Ta

Master of the Boot


	8. Endgames Part 1

Over the Top: Terror on Gay Street

Chapter Eight: Endgames Part 1

Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight or the KGB. Those are owned by Stephanie Meyer and Vladimir Putin. Also note, this story is rated M. So you young uns, click the back button while you still can.

Side Note: This story is based heavily off of another fanfiction story called Over the  
Top by starfish422. Fans of that story can think of this as an AU fanfiction  
of that fanfiction. It begins with the same budding relationship between  
Edward and Jasper and takes a disturbing twist when a slew of colorful new  
characters are added. This story begs the question - how far would their love  
have gone had drunken KGB agents became involved? Fasten your seat belts  
folks, and enjoy the ride.

Thank you to starfish422 for your permission to borrow your take on Jasper  
and Edward as well as certain scenes from your story.  
OTT can be found in the Twilight community, Some like it hot.

* * *

Birds flew, grass grew and in the city of Seattle, people were getting hurt. On Beacon Hill in Seattle, just in front of Cavalry cemetery, all hell had broken loose.

In the streets, all manner of thugs, goons, bruisers, bad boys and brigands were fighting it out. Vietnamese gangsters, Korean scrappers, ass kicking nuns, a mad lawyer disguised as a priest, a Russian cowboy and many others were giving out freely the fist, the bullet, the blade and the bomb.

Several patrolmen had seen the riot of fighters and had been spotted. The beat cops hadn't stood a chance against the surprisingly well trained and ferocious street fighters. One policeman didn't get off more than one shot before his clock was cleaned by a Korean kung-fu master. His partner was less fortunate; his ears were hacked off by a crazy nun wearing clawed gloves.

In the middle of this bedlam, Peter and his bar fighting buddies were just trying to stay alive. A few hours ago, they'd gone out and beat up people in a seedy bar. That was fun, this was just insane.

In one hand he held a hockey stick, which he used to break people's ankles and smash skulls. In his other hand, Peter held a portable nail gun. Anybody that got too close to him that wasn't a good friend got a hail of nails in the general vicinity of their genital area.

To his right was Sweet Kapoyanis, the homophobic son of a Greek pimp. Kapoyanis was using a cigarette lighter and a can of hairspray as a handy impromptu flame thrower. An ass kicking nun attempted to slice Sweet in twain with a katana but instead had her habit set on fire.

And Dennis was being . . . Dennis. It was like somebody unleashed a large bear on the battlefield, shaved it down and gave it a weapon. One could easily imagine Dennis caged up with the rest of the dangerous animals at the Roman circus and made to fight the gladiators, ten at a time.

That big brutish son of a plumber was using a blue painted steel door as a weapon. He would swing it and dispatch an easy half dozen opponents. A lot of people weren't going to walk away from this battle. Dennis was also using his big weapon as a shield against stray bullets and arrows, of which there were no shortage.

Standing on top of a building, one Vietnamese gangster used a crossbow to pick off opponents down in the streets below. Down on ground zero, another Vietnamese gangster rode on a unicycle and sprayed the thickening crowds with a submachine gun.

Hong, the Korean War veteran jumped up and drop kicked the unicycle riding gangster in the face, effectively taking him out of the fight.

With all this madness running about, common sense would follow that the number of fighters would decrease. Common sense had no place amidst the terror on Gay Street. Here, there was only room for battle reflex and craziness. Gay Street was long overdue for a seismic event and Jasper and Edward had unwittingly stepped on the fault line.

The smell of battle drew all manner of carrion birds and predators. Lured in by gunfire, a crew of Mafia enforcers had come to investigate. When one of their number was shot down, they had no choice but to call for help and stay and fight.

Slightly drunk and a little angry that the day's event had been cancelled, a group of World War One recreationists with live ammunition decided to reenact the battle of Ypres.

* * *

Revolver Ocelot was pissed. This was the second time he'd lost an arm and it was the first time that an attempted rape on his part had been foiled.

Ocelot was pulling himself out of the ruined body of the red sports car he'd hijacked. That mad priest was good as any opponent Ocelot had faced in his many decades as a black ops operative. When they met for the last time, Ocelot was going to shoot Anderson in the knees. Then he's shoot Anderson in the stomach. Afterwards he'd shoot him in the elbows. If he had any ammo left, he'd shoot Anderson between the eyes.

With bloodshot eyes, Ocelot looked at the anarchy that spread before him. Though he was furious, he brought down his pulse and his temper. Replacing white hot fury was cold sadism which would permit maximum efficiency.

Easily as slicing pie, he throw open his trademark weapon and spent cartridges. A bullet hit the ground near his feet. He didn't bat an eye. The mob drew closer; somebody got their brains splattered all over Ocelot's boots. It was all irrelevant.

Using only one hand, Revolver Ocelot, one of the great assassins of the cold war, reloaded his Colt single action army revolver. It was the greatest handgun ever invented. Six bullets were all that Revolver needed to kill anything that moved.

And so, he started off in pursuit of Edward and Jasper, utterly uncaring about the heap of slaughter and bloodlust happening before his eyes.

* * *

Meanwhile, Jasper and Edward ran as fast as they could into the heart of the cemetery. To the left of them was a thick grove of oak trees. To the right were rows and rows of tombstones.

Finally they could run no further, even though the sounds of battle were easily heard through the grove of trees and forest of tombstones.

Exhausted, the two men sat themselves down heavily on the thick grass and leaned on whatever was handy. A handy tree proved to be not an ideal but a convenient backrest for the tired lads. The pair of them were panting and sweating as if they'd had the sex Edward had originally promised to Jasper.

Out of sight, out of mind; the expression was never truer. Removed from the sights of battle, Edward could slow down and start to ask a few questions. There was something he wanted to ask Jasper but first he needed to take a look around.

Okay, first thing; look to the left. No homophobes there; that's good.

Alright, don't be sky; look to the right. Okay, no assassins there. It might not be exactly as safe as could be, but for now it'd do.

Between his panting he asked of his companion, "Hey, Jazz."

Jasper ran a hand through his hair, soaked through with sweat. He took two more deep breaths before responding to the other gay, "Yes, Edward?"

"Remember when Ocelot pointed a gun at me and you pushed me behind you?"

"Yes."

Edward was able to address the initial cause to this chaotic night quite easily. The whole thing seemed so bizarre as to have been a dream. This was probably a defense mechanism and he'd have nightmares for weeks after this involving Russian cowboys and Vietnamese gangsters. He had to know, "Why did you do it?"

Jasper seemed to seize up, the tension was returning. He knew the reason but the words wouldn't come to him.

"Jasper?" The utterance of his name seemed to shake him out of his embarrassment. When he's first conceived of this plan, it didn't look so wild. Now though, he wasn't so sure this would work out.

Edward sat up from the stout tree trunk and focused on his companion. He could see the turmoil behind Jasper's gorgeous features. Damn, this fellow was something. He was hot, but he was so much more. Jasper was unbelievably _cute_. It was more than his physical features; it was his voice, his mannerisms and his attitude.

Edward saw Jazz biting down nervously on his lower lip. Good gosh, Edward was blown away by the gesture. He just wanted to lean forward and take that lower lip into his mouth. Oh yeah, Jasper was cute as Sam hill.

"It's a little embarrassing."

"That's okay; I won't react badly to it." Edward wasn't normally so tender with people. Normally, he was cold and business like with all of his lovers. Actually, "_lovers_" was a bad term for it as no love was exchanged between his partners and Edward.

There was something about Jasper that encouraged Edward to show him a little bit of trust. Also, there was an odd kind of familiarity about Jazz, but he couldn't place where they'd met before.

Slowly, Jasper began to unveil the truth for his companion of this dreadful night. "Edward, how much do you remember from your high school days?"

"More than I care to remember." It was true, Edward's past held many painful memories. The vast majority of the time, he tended to forget the past and focus on the now. Often times, he needed help focusing on the now; that's where all those sexy men came into play.

Jasper was about to explain more, but he was tragically cut off by the sound of motorcycles.

_VA-VRRRRROOOOM!!!!_

A huge Harley-Davidson motorcycle tore over a hillock behind the two boys and went sailing over Jasper and Edward's heads, nearly decapitating them. That one motorcycle was followed by another, then two, then ten and then an entire gang of Harley ridin' thugs.

Jasper looked so disappointed. He had been about to profess his love for Edward. "OH MAN, WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS!!!!" It just wasn't fair. He was so vulnerable; he wanted to just cry like his sister did only in private.

Realistically, he was about to reveal his dark secret to Edward and now the Hells Angels wanted to intervene.

The first rider gunned it across the green grass of the cemetery, shredding the manicured lawn and throwing dirt clods all over the grave markers.

In the spaces between the tombs and in the wide stretches of grass, the bikers ran roughshod. Grass was torn to shreds and gravestones were knocked down by the capricious outlaws.

Actually, these men weren't the Hells Angels; they were a neo-Nazi group referred to as The Last Battalion. Cruising on their bikes, vandalizing a cemetery and causing general mayhem were just how this group of individuals found a way of chilling after a long day of pushing smack, robbing jewelry stores and killing hookers.

Edward and Jasper both were paralyzed with fear. They daren't sprint away lest that action draw the attention of the reveling bikers. In front of them, innumerable swastikas danced this way and that like a swarm of insects amidst the red and white of headlights and signal lights.

If they had been cartoon characters, the boys' hair would have been standing on end. Slowly, they started to move away from the potentially homophobic neo-Nazis.

With their karma tonight, they should have seen it coming, but they didn't; they got spotted in another perfectly predictable stroke of bad luck

The leader of the neo-Nazis laughed gleefully at the overall havoc in the cemetery. It was a beautiful night out. The gang tonight had knocked down several Jewish grave markers; that was always a plus.

Suddenly, out of the corner of her eye, the gang leader saw two men in trendy outfits perfect for clubbing. That one man with the bronze hair, she knew him!

The gang leader slammed on the brakes of her bike, smashing down another gravestone and nearly totaling another bike. She screamed something in German, lost above the din of fifty motorcycle engines.

Sensing their leader's unease, the swastika wearing brutes all cut their engines and stood aside their commander.

The leader of the neo-Nazis was a woman, a lesbian in fact. But Zorin Blitz was not your run of the mill lesbian. Zorin was butch to the max; as far back as junior high she'd been mistaken for a man on account of her well developed muscles and violent temperament.

Oh, fuck. Edward hadn't thought it possible that his rotten luck could get any worse, but it just had. Hadn't he used up his quota almost getting when he almost got raped by three Russian thugs and almost murdered by a crazy Scottish guy dressed like a priest?

He knew Zorin Blitz. He'd known that crazy East German bitch during junior and high school. She was always in trouble, getting involved with gangs and beating up other students. Physically he'd been an equal to Zorin, and he'd never once bowed to her tyrannical will.

Now though things were a little different. Zorin looked twice as muscular as Edward was and she had an entire biker gang at her command.

Jasper couldn't believe it. Holy shit. That gang leader looked like a pretty nasty guy, not to mention freaky. The dude was whacked out; seemingly the entire left side of his body was covered in grey and black tattoos. Muscles rippled beneath a black wife beater shirt. He'd tucked his cargo pants into his combat boots. Zorin had dubbed these boots "_Jew stompers,"_ but they'd have a similar effect on a homosexual.

The night air was as quiet as could be with the sounds of a fight so near. The bikers didn't seem to notice. Fifty sets of eyes gazed upon them, eyes filled with hate and bloodlust. The bikers were jackals in human form; only the word of their fuhrer kept them from attacking.

Zorin's German accent broke the heavy silence. "Vell, Edvard Cullen. Are you still the same cock sucking faggot that I remember?"

Behind her, Zorin's current lover watched in rapt fascination. Her name was Danica, but she preferred to go by the soubriquet, Steiner.

Danica watched her fuehrer with rapt fascination.

Edward stood tall, his gaze unflinching. He was tired, his feet hurt and frankly, he was a little pissed. Edward knew how Zorin Blitz thought, he knew what motivated her. Despite being a lesbian, Zorin was one of the worst homophobes at his school. Showing weakness of any sort in front of one such as her was to invite instant death. Right now, his and Jasper's chances of survival looked nil, but if he was able to stall and play a few word games with her then they might survive long enough for another miracle to happen.

He began, "Zorin Blitz; you're uglier than I remember." This statement elicited a chorus of coarse laughter from the gang.

Zorin looked around with her good eye and her lazy eye; there was no mistaking the murderous rage on her half tattooed features. At her men she shouted, "Shut the fuck up! I'll kill you myself!"

At this, all of the gang members shut up. Each and every one of them remembered what happened to the last guy that lit Zorin's short fuse.

Danica shook with excitement in the saddle behind her lover and leader. Her jittery hands went up to the bandanna with the _totenkampf _symbol that was tied around her shaven cranium.

Zorin sneered for another round, just daring somebody to even giggle a little. When nobody did, she turned back to her old high school chum. Once again, that hateful grin was back on her face. One eye gazed directly at Edward while the other gazed off in a random direction. "You haff not changed, Cullen. You're still the worthless cum bucket vith a big mouth und no bite."

Edward smirked a little bit, Jasper couldn't help but be awed at the ease with which Edward could hide his emotions and put on this fearless mask. "Well Zorin, I am what I am but it's a lot better than what you are; you disgusting, degenerate cow."

Zorin gritted her teeth a little bit but otherwise kept her cool. "I'm the vone here vith the guns und the power. I can crush you like a vurm, any time I vant."

She was right, of course. But at this point, all Edward had was his ability to beat Zorin in a battle of words. He wanted to know if he could still destroy Zorin verbally like he used to in his youth, "Zorin, you can kill me but you can't kill the herpes that's making puss drip out of your pussy as we speak."

Zorin was so shocked by Edward's crass comment that for a second her eyes just bulged out and her cigarette fell out of her mouth.

Danica made the mistake of tittering. Naturally, she tried not to let it out but it just slipped into being.

Zorin might have expected this from one of her other lackeys but not from her little Steiner. Furious at her lover, she smacked Danica in the face hard enough that her nose bled.

Jasper turned to Edward, who was genuinely enjoying this little word game. "You know him?"

"She was a bully in my first year of high school."

Jasper blinked in confusion, "You mean _that_ is a girl?"

"Yep."

Having dealt with her rebellious girlfriend, Zorin turned back to Edward, tired of this horseshit. "You like haffing your ass split in half? I'll split your ass in half good."

Wordlessly, Zorin held her hand out to her girlfriend. She gestured that she was impatient.

Danica looked down at the blood on her hand with a mix of shame and excitement. On the one hand she had dishonored her beloved fuhrer and that was unacceptable, but on the other hand she loved pain and she loved it best when Zorin smacked her in the face and other places.

Zorin hated anything that was feminine, which included straight women, femme lesbians and gay men. She found Danica's love of pain and abundant facial hair a turn on, she forbid her little Steiner to shave.

Her fuhrer was a very impatient woman, and she'd already tried it enough for one night. Without even a pause, Danica reached behind her and pulled a long machete from the sheath strapped to her back.

Blitz imperceptibly nodded in approval as the handle of the weapon reached her hand.

Danica tried to shout, "Heil, mein-

"Shut up!" Zorin cut off her lackey. With flourish, she swung the machete in a gleaming arc. Her smile widened. "Somebody hold them down!"

Several bikers dismounted from their bikes and started to run for Jasper and Edward. Several other bikers aimed assorted handguns at the duo, so running away was impossibility.

The time for words was over; they were now in Zorin's preferred arena. Rudely, a pair of bikers grabbed Edward in a bruising grip and thrust him to the ground.

He tried to get up but a foot attached to a three hundred pound body pressed him down. His ribs felt like they were going to snap.

Gazing to his right he saw Jasper in a similar predicament. Jasper . . . had this look on his face. It was a face of sadness, regret and above all, love.

Edward didn't deserve that look Jasper was giving him. He hadn't done anything to warrant any love from the perfect, blond haired man. He wished that Jasper didn't have to be here. After all he'd done in his life; Edward was the only one who deserved to be in this predicament.

He could hardly breathe. It hurt him to see Jasper's pained face. He mouthed to this strange and brave man, "I'm sorry."

Zorin stomped across the grass with the most ungraceful stride you've ever seen. She was going to enjoy this. She always loved carrying on the legacy left behind by the greatest man on earth: Adolf Hitler.

Just when it seemed that all hope had died and that villainy would prevail, fate threw in another twist.

The sounds of a helicopter could be heard. That in itself wouldn't be cause for alarm or pause, but the chopper sounded like it was flying right overhead.

The police helicopter flew over the cemetery. The size of the riot in the streets had grown and now nearly every scoundrel, hoodlum, psycho and anybody with a weapon was in the streets, fighting it out like the end of days. The entire Seattle police force was being called in to contain the problem and they had orders to shoot to kill.

This police helicopter in particular was carrying a military grade mortar cannon. It'd had been a wedding gift for the chief of police. He never though he'd use it, but eventuality had proven him wrong.

When the helicopter pilot shone his spotlight on the group of motorcycles parked in Cavalry cemetery, he'd assumed the worst and gotten his aircraft into position. "FIRE!" he screamed at the gunner.

The mortar spat its deadly ordinance. The muffled sound of it firing could not be compared to the thunderous boom of the shells detonating. The explosion shook the ground and tore apart bikers along with their bikes.

* * *

Alexander Anderson heard the sounds of a mortar. He'd lost track of his quarry but now his hunter's instincts were telling him to run towards the explosions. The cemetary was big, but he'd find what he was looking for.

He'd taken the bayonet in his mouth and driven it through somebody's heart a while ago. His smile was now exposed for the world to see.

His long legs began to propel him at speed which nearly rivaled his strength. As his bellow like lungs worked, he breathed in deeply the smells of the night. What he smelled was blood, death, fire, gunpowder and sin; it was all good.

What ran through his body now was a weird species of arousal not normally felt by members of the human race. It was the exact opposite of the feeling he received when he killed Felix and Dmitri and downed Ocelot. He felt dirty, like an animal. He wanted to punish himself. But more than that, he wanted to punish the entire world and every soul in it.

* * *

The world was spinning, was he drunk? He remembered some things. He remembered a man with dimples and blond hair. He remembered a man dressed like a cowboy, cruelly spinning a pistol (he couldn't remember what kind.)

Edward opened his eyes. He saw much but it was like someone threw the off switch on the volume for the world; he couldn't hear a thing. All around him, he saw bikers fleeing into the cover of the trees as mortar fire rained down from the police chopper. Some of them went on foot.

He was strangely calm about the whole thing. Was this what it was like to be a shell-shocked soldier? He was aware that everything around him was real, but it all felt like a dream.

In front of him, he saw Zorin Blitz and Danica on their Harley, speeding right at him. His sense of hearing and self preservation suddenly returned to him. Throwing himself to the side, Edward only just managed to avoid being run down.

Okay, he was terrified. Scratch that, he was beyond terrified at the moment. He wanted a drink. He wanted to suck his thumb. He wanted his mommy even though they'd been estranged for years. He wanted . . . Jasper!

Where was Jasper? Frantically he spun around, looking for blond hair that didn't belong to Alexander Anderson. More shells fell, taking out a few more bikers but there was no sign of Jasper.

Oh God, was he alright? Had he been injured? Or worse?

He started to scream out the name of this mysterious man, "Jazz! Jazz! Jasper! JASPER!"

It was pathetic; he couldn't even be heard over the din of the helicopter.

* * *

Elsewhere: at the entrance of the cemetery. "Boom."

* * *

There was another explosion, but in the air and not on the ground. A rocket propelled grenade struck the side of the police helicopter.

In the cockpit, warning lights flashed and klaxons wailed. The pilot struggled to maintain any form of controlled flight. "Hang on, we're going down!"

The helicopter went down past the line of trees, out of sight. From what his ears could tell him, the chopper had not landed gently. Its landing had shaken the ground nearly as badly as the mortar shots.

Edward turned around, tears starting to spill from his eyes. The gigantic fight was spilling into the cemetery. He couldn't believe how many people were getting involved with this. It was like a football game out there, with hundreds of spectators all fighting it out.

He stepped a little closer, trying to get a better view of the main gates of the graveyard. Standing in the gates of the cemetery was a group of men. From this distance and in this darkness he couldn't tell how they dressed or what they looked like. He only could see that one man was spinning something around with his hand.

Edward's gut clenched. Despair and hopelessness washed over him. It was Revolver Ocelot. No other feeling he'd ever had could match or approximate this feeling of smallness and insignificance.

It seemed that no matter whom he called or what he did, Ocelot would always keep coming after him.

Tears now falling like a waterfall, Edward turned tail and ran into the trees as fast as his feet would take him. The fear and worry in his heart was as much for himself as it was for Jasper.

Ocelot was feeling a lot better. Sure, the blood loss was making him feel a bit woozy, but that was hardly anything. He'd got in touch with some friends. His friends had provided him with a couple of energy bars and some drugs to numb the pain of a missing arm.

Surrounding him was seven of his KBG mates, all of them eager to avenge Felix and Dmitri. There was Gregor "The Lech" Hakson, who'd have sex with anyone or anything. There was Vadim Mendeleev, who had a talent for gouging out people's eyes.

Standing to the left of Ocelot was Sasha Drakesh, an artist with knuckle dusters. It was he that fired the RPG that downed the police chopper.

Then there were the twins, Edik and Ivan Berzin. Their faces would be the last you'd ever see if you so much as looked at them the wrong way.

Completing this hideous group of seven were two mysterious men nicknamed Vamp and Solidus. They recent members of the KBG and in the murky past had had the honor to serve with Revolver Ocelot.

Ocelot looked around at his boys, "Gentlemen, let's broaden our minds."

And with that, a tidal wave of rioters swept past them, using up any and all space in which to complete their fight.

* * *

Well, I had a ton of fun writing this. I'm sad to say though that I'll be starting college soon and I won't be able to update as frequently as I do now. But fear not, I won't vanish from the Hallowed Halls of Fanfiction. My next piece of work will be a oneshot called Vampire Hunter Nessie. Details will follow on my main page on this site.

While we're at it, I'd like to reccomend shallowswan's story _Cullen Shagger D: Romancing the Nessie_. It's a fantastic crossover that will be worth everybody's time.

I'd like to thank everybody that reads and reviews and everybody that puts this story on their favorites. The attention you lavish on this story means the world to me and I wish all of you long life and prosperity. :)

Stay Healthy,

Ta

Msster of the Boot


	9. Escalation

Over the Top: Terror on Gay Street

Chapter Nine: Escalation

Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight, Metal Gear or the KGB. Those are owned by Stephanie Meyer, Sega and Vladimir Putin. Also note, this story is rated M. So you young uns, click the back button while you still can.

Side Note: This story is based heavily off of another fanfiction story called Over the  
Top by starfish422. Fans of that story can think of this as an AU fanfiction  
of that fanfiction. It begins with the same budding relationship between  
Edward and Jasper and takes a disturbing twist when a slew of colorful new  
characters are added. This story begs the question - how far would their love  
have gone had drunken KGB agents became involved? Fasten your seat belts  
folks, and enjoy the ride.

Thank you to starfish422 for your permission to borrow your take on Jasper  
and Edward as well as certain scenes from your story.  
OTT can be found in the Twilight community, Some like it hot.

* * *

_Austin, Texas_

Marlene Whitlock sat on the sofa and she was knitting. She enjoyed knitting. Even before the children left the nest she had enjoyed knitting. It was an intellectually stimulating exercise that was also good for the fingers. Today she was making a pair of socks for her grandchildren. Her daughter Rosalie and her son in law Emmett had given her grandchildren some years ago and she'd been grateful ever since.

Her gay son Jasper hadn't given her any children but there was no pressure on him to do so. She loved her only son dearly and nothing would change that. She loved her little sonny-Jim when he came out to them and she still loved him to death today.

All that had changed was that her greatest fear now was that Jasper would wind up in a marriage with an abusive man. Jasper had grown from a delicate child into a delicate and sensitive man; it would be too easy for somebody to manipulate his emotions for evil ends. Part of this fear stemmed from the fact that Marlene had seen one too many Martin Scorsese films which featured bitter but beautiful and delicate women being abused by tank-top wearing scoundrels and scumbags.

Momentarily the thought made her shudder; her poor Jasper wearing a dress while being verbally abused by Jake Lamotta in black and white. Marlene hoped that Jasper never married an Italian man.

Her prejudiced reverie was interrupted by a crash coming from the kitchen. It was her husband, one John Whitlock. Much as Marlene was doing what she enjoyed, John was enjoying what he did.

The Whitlock patriarch stumbled out of the kitchen with bloodshot eyes and no shirt. In a semi-coherent voice, he asked of his wife, "Hey sweet-pea; you're looking foxy tonight." This dialogue wouldn't have worked on another woman but it was exactly what Marlene liked to be called. A blush rose to her cheeks and her knitting fingers slowed down.

John walked slowly toward her with the beer in his hand. He breathed again in a half romantic, half inebriated voice. "You've become more beautiful with each day and I'm too lucky to have you." The turn on was that he meant every word of what he said.

The turn off was that he'd just drank four beers and chased them down with five tablespoons of cough syrup. Even without the fifth beer, John Whitlock was seriously fucked up.

John suddenly landed right next to Marlene and set his beer down on the coffee table, spilling half of it. The smell of beer and cough syrup made Marlene wince but she forced herself to listen to her husband, "When I met you, it was like I was struck by a lightning bolt." She was starting to get horny again.

He embraced his wife; trembling like a wound up toy that was wound up so tightly it was about to snap. He grinned like a fool as he made out with his other half, his better half. Marlene felt like she was melting.

John said to her between kisses, "You gave me two beautiful children; Chicken-Boo and the one that's a girl."

Instantly, Marlene's arousal went out the window, "They're called Jasper and Rosalie, dear." This is what she hated about John when he was like this. He was kinky and sexually adventurous when he was on the beer and cough syrup, but he also forgot the names of his children. For Marlene this was almost unforgivable.

Gently, she pushed her hammered husband off of her and picked up her knitting again. Off in his own little world, John began to stumble back and forth across the room, calling for Chicken-Boo to help him find his drink.

As the needles clacked together, Marlene wondered what was going on with Jasper. He's started a new job recently in Seattle and she hoped that he was okay. After all, he was still her little boy. Her high hope was that he'd find somebody and be happy with them. Even if they were Italian.

Suddenly, her field of vision was filled with her now naked husband's junk. It stood in front of her, twitching and engorged but it needed a little extra something to get going. Still grinning like a fool, John asked of his wife, "Do you want to do it in the truck."

Normally, John didn't like having sex in the truck, but Marlene did. It was her favourite place for that sort of thing.

She looked at her husband's wand and then at the knitting needles. Fuck the knitting; her skilled hands were needed desperately in other places. She gave off a goofy smile that imitated John's, "Let's do it, John Wayne."

* * *

Meanwhile, in the city of Seattle, Jasper Whitlock was not having any fun. He'd been almost killed and raped nearly five times now and he was desperately trying to find Edward. That was just his rotten luck, he was trying to tell the object of his infatuation the truth and then suddenly a horde of neo-Nazi bikers springs up from the depths of hell to ruin it all. Then he found out that Edward had gone to high school with the crazy Nazi leader who looked like a man but was actually a woman.

Zorin must have dropped out of high school before Jasper started attending, thankfully. He didn't have time to think about any of that though. At this very moment, bombs and grenades were flying like seagulls and Seattle was the last place on earth that you wanted to be unless you were a psychopath, a hardened killer or somebody that just loved fighting and war. Jasper Whitlock was none of the above and the same went for Edward.

He sprinted between the trees of the cemetery. He thought that he'd caught a glimpse of Edward fleeing in this direction. Edward would save himself. He hoped that Edward would save himself.

Right now, Jasper had his own problems. His flight through the trees was hardly free of enemies. As he tripped and nearly fell, a carving knife sailed past his ear. If he hadn't stumbled then, the carving knife might have found its mark.

He didn't know who his attackers were, only that they were very freaky. At this minute, Jasper was being chased by a band of men wearing assorted Halloween masks and carrying random knives and rifles. This was only one small group of them; there were others like them at ground zero, coming up from the sewers and the dark corners of city.

Nobody was sure who these mask-wearing knife fighters were, but they seemed to call themselves "the body." As they made to kill Jasper, they chanted parts of their credo. It could very well have been that they were a cult.

One of the masked men jumped up into a tree and began to follow Jasper along the branches. The man must have been very well trained, because he navigated that tree like a monkey. Actually, a monkey would have been green with envy and embarrassment. He chanted as he ran, "_The body has no eyes; we see no path but our own." _

* * *

"_The body has no ears; we hear no_—hrrk!"

"Shut up, asswipe." Peter Costas had no time for the crazy antics of mask wearing faggots like these. No offense to Edward intended. The weird man wearing a rubber Frankenstein mask and wielding two bowie knives had been delivering that weird line about the body when Peter had silenced him with a punch to the sternum, the blow enhanced with some knuckledusters.

The masked assailant went down with broken ribs, but Peter wasn't about to let him off so easily. He had managed to fight his way deeper into the cemetery where Edward and that blond guy had gone. In the process he'd become separated from his brawling buddies and been ambushed by a wacko in a rubber mask.

Peter stood amidst the wreckage of where Zorin's gang was attacked by a police helicopter with a mortar cannon. Some of the tomb stones had shattered into nice, jagged rocks. Putting down the board with nails, Peter grabbed a real beauty of a rock, which had come from a vandalized Jewish gravestone.

A piece of Jewish stone had never been put to such good use, and Peter slammed the pointiest end of it down onto the head of the masked attacker. There was a lovely crunch and then the Greek fighting man could hear no more bullshit from this guy's mouth.

However, Peter had made a mistake in dropping the plank he'd been wielding. The violence on Gay Street was scary; weapons were broken here almost as fast as men. Heading on a collision course with Peter was a band of men looking to break him. These men were Vietnamese.

Peter was about to grab his plank of wood, but unfortunately for him an arrow pinned the weapon to the ground. So there he was facing off against ten Vietnamese armed with bows and deadly gardening implements. All he had was a little set of knuckle dusters. It was time for a strategic retreat.

But to Peter's great surprise, somebody rescued him just as one of the Vietnamese bowmen was about to bury an arrow in his skull. A rifle cracked and the bowman snapped backwards, his arrow flying towards the moon.

Peter spun around and jumped behind a half tombstone, his aching muscles ready for more action. To his great surprise he saw something that made his spirits soar. The first of his in-laws were here.

Peter had an Italian girlfriend, because Italian and Greek are similar in a lot of ways. While Peter had thought that his family had been insane, he'd had no idea what that word meant until he'd met his girlfriend's family.

Suddenly, a hail of suppressing fire came down on the Vietnamese, forcing them to either take cover behind the ruins of several motorbikes or to run back into the frothing sea of violence.

Peter called out in greeting, but kept behind the gravestone; he didn't want to present a target to some lucky fucker with a loaded firearm.

Coming towards him was a greasy looking man with the physique of Jabba the Hutt. In his flabby arms was cradled an assault rifle with half a clip left; he held several replacement clips in the deep pockets normally used to hold his snacks.

The fat man wasn't walking; instead he was sitting on a barroom stool with swivelling wheels. A teenage boy was pushing him along over the uneven area of the cemetery's lawn; no easy task that.

With his large gut and man breasts quivering, "Fat" John Ravini grumbled in aggression, "I kill you fucking Japanese!"

The kid pushing fat John, whose name was Kevin, informed John with a few huffs and puffs, "Actually sir, you don't know if those guys are Japanese."

Fat John half mumbled, half yelled at the lad, "Ah, shut up; I fucking kill those Japanese!" To John's left, a bomb landed and knocked him and Kevin both to the side. John fell out of his chair like a human water balloon; everything just seemed to blob over and spill. A loud rip indicated that Fat John had torn a hole in his pants.

Over the horizon, armed and ready to fight were his in-laws and family. A small army of mixed Greek and Italians galloped over the hill like the ancient warriors of the _Iliad_ come to lay siege to Troy.

Grateful for the backup, Peter went to help Fat John, who was screaming in pain, even though it was actually Kevin that was bleeding and not him.

***

Jasper peered from around a tree, eyes wide with terror. Why was this happening to him? What had he done to deserve this? These were questions that he'd asked more than once this night. Why indeed?

A fog was gathering; it caused the cemetery to look like the set of a Hammer Horror Film instead of a wholesome and cheerful place to mourn the dead. Jasper was half worried that zombies would burst out of their graves and snatch him. In darkness like this, the imagination would run wild, and not for the better.

Perspiration soaked his shirt, overpowering the cologne he'd chosen tonight. His feet were killing him; his dress shoes were not meant for serious running like this. And to top it all, he'd lost his cell phone.

A leaf fell before Jasper's eyes, and he looked up. He regretted it. One of the masked assassins from earlier was up in the branches. Bright eyes seemed to peer into Jasper's very soul from behind a chicken mask.

In panic, Jasper fell to the ground and tried to crawl away, but the masked killer stomped on his hand. He cried out in pain before it was interrupted. The point of a sharp knife was poised right above his eye.

This was it. Jasper was going to die.

The chicken-masked man chose to chant before driving the knife home, "_The body has no nose; we smell no fear._"

A cry of pain ran through the night, but this cry came from the man in a chicken mask. A sharp piece of metal pinned the man's arm through the wrist. An oriental weapon known as a sai pinned his wrist to a tree, saving Jasper's life.

Both Jasper and the chicken-masked man looked left, one in wonderment and the other in hate and pain. Standing just off to the left were two Greek men, one with a baseball bat and the other with a sai identical to the one in chicken-man's arm.

Jasper started to say, "What the—"

Without another word, the Greek with the baseball bat stepped forward and swung his weapon in a wide arc. There was a loud crunch as the Louisville slugger slammed down on the chicken man's shoulder blades. The noise of it would have made Jasper wince under normal circumstances, which these circumstances were not.

As he moved, Jasper got a better look at the men who rescued him. The man with the sai was rather youthful; it didn't look like he had even graduated high school yet. His hair was overloaded with pomade; he might have easily passed as a greaser from the nineteen fifties. The second man was bald and a bit more comical in appearance; he wore a tank top to show off his developed muscles, a ludicrously large gold chain and a purple pair of pants from hell.

If the bald guy wasn't gay then he had to be the most flamboyant straight fucker that Jasper had ever laid eyes on.

Suddenly, Jasper was shocked by cold; the cemetery's sprinkler system had turned on. The two Greek men ignored the spray of the sprinkler and ran up to the masked man.

The bald man stopped and jumped back as the masked man tried to stab him by swinging his hips; his broken shoulder blades leaving him with very few options. With a sneer on his face, baldy said to the masked man, "Here; enjoy this, fucker!" and then he swung his bat right into chicken man's masked face. That son of a bitch was out like a light.

Jasper looked at the scene with complete shock. There was a distinct possibility that these bronzed men were friends of Peter. There was also a possibility that they might not know that he was connected with Peter and they might try to kill him.

To Jasper's surprise, the bald man grabbed him by the sleeve and yanked him out of the range of the sprinklers. As he did this, the kid went to grab his sai from the downed chicken man's wrist.

Jasper's attention was disrupted as the bald man grabbed him by the shoulders and started to shake him. The man let go of Jasper's shoulders and said to him, "Hey buddy, are you going to be alright?"

Stunned, Jasper managed a nervous reply, "Yeah, I'm fine. I'll be fine." He paused for a moment; in desperation he asked, "We have to find Edward. Can you help me find Edward?"

Baldy ignored Jasper's request and looked at his partner. Taking his cue, the high school kid with elaborate hair pulled a cheap cellular phone from his pocket and started to tap at its buttons. The annoying little cell phone beeped a few more times until the kid said to the older man, "_Eena aftos_."

Baldy turned back to Jasper, "Are you with Peter Costas?"

"Yes, I am." Jasper was able to breathe a bit easier because it was now undisputable that these men weren't going to kill him.

Baldy introduced himself and his companion, "I'm Art; Peter's brother. This is my cousin Zuno."

"Zuno." Jasper thought that was an unusual name, "Is that Greek?"

Zuno shrugged and tapped his sais together, "No, my real name is Carl Junior. My mom can't pronounce "_junior" _so she just calls me Zuno; everybody else does, too ." That was good enough for Jasper.

Art put his hand on Jasper's shoulder, displaying a number of rings in the process. "Peter said that there was a fight. I suggest you get out of here after we meet up with my brother."

But Jasper remained adamant. "Please, though, we need to find Edward." Art looked at him with a sceptical and slightly annoyed eye. He'd been told there was a fight here, not an all out war. Unlike his brother, he did not want to fight more than he had to. Because he wanted to get the hell out of here, Art was willing to tell Jasper whatever he wanted. "Sure, we'll help you find Edward."

Jasper broke out into smile, because this was one of the few really good things tonight. "Thank you! Thank you so much!"

***

Edward ran through the woods with Revolver Ocelot on his heels. Or at least that's what he imagined to be the case. In his fear-addled brain, Edward saw Revolver Ocelot in every shadow and thicket.

Abruptly he saw Jasper at last. He couldn't believe his luck. But he had to hurry; Edward could hear the sounds of violence getting closer and closer. It was as if the war zone was following him like a living, hungry creature.

Urging himself into a stiff jog because he hadn't the energy for another sprint; he went towards Jasper while yelling and waving.

Jasper jumped out of his skin when he heard his name called. He literally leapt into Art's arms. Art wasn't very interested in holding anybody in his arms that didn't have a pair of breasts, so he immediately threw Jasper to the ground. Thankfully the grass was soft, but those grass stains would be a bitch to get out.

Jasper smiled in joy as he saw who it was that had called to him and scampered up as he began to run towards Edward. That was when the ground began to rumble and shake.

Edward slowed to a halt as he nearly lost his balance on the vibrating earth. Suddenly, the ground in front of him exploded upwards in a circle. Dirt hit his eyes and blinded him, thankfully it wasn't very much dirt. Evidently, it wasn't a bad thing that Edward flinched a lot.

Vision blurry, Edward tried to see what was climbing out of the ground. When his vision cleared a little bit, he wished that he wasn't able to see.

Huge, muscular humanoids with pale scaly skin and flat scowling faces were climbing out of the ground. The creature's muscular bodies were as strapped with muscle as they were with weapons. Before Edward knew what was happening, he found himself being groped by a baker's dozen of these monsters that were swarming out of their emergence holes like locusts.

Edward screamed in abject terror as uncountable pairs of clawed, scaly hands groped his body. He couldn't believe it; he had somehow landed in the middle of some Japanese man's monster rape fantasy.

His screams only elevated in volume as the growling Locusts ripped open his shirt and he felt their sharp claws cut into his moisturized skin.

This batch of Locusts was led by a member of their priestly cast known as a Kantus. The Kantus was taller than its comrades, more sinewy and agile. Adjusting its conical cap/helmet, the Locust priest hoisted its Gorgon-burst pistol and hissed out, "_Make him squeal!_"

This declaration by the Locust leader made Edward cry louder. Sure, he was gay, but at no point in his life did he ever want to get sexually assaulted by the Locust Horde.

Jasper screamed in horror as well; he could not allow Edward to suffer such a horrible fate as to be groped to death by the Locusts. Art could do something; so he grabbed the bald man and shouted hysterically at him, "Do something!"

Art was a little bit shocked; jeez, what the fuck was going on? One minute he took out a guy in a mask and now all these weird . . . things were popping up everywhere. He and cousin Zuno both wanted to do the smart thing "No way man; let's get the fuck out of here."

Jasper wouldn't let Art leave; not with his bat anyways. He shouted at the man, "Give me the bat! Give it now!"

Shocked at Jasper's selflessness, Art surrendered his bat to the smartly dressed and exhausted man. He watched in wonder as Jasper began to charge the Locusts. Was this guy insane?

Jasper held the bat high over his head. He had no illusions that he could fight all of these guys; he was an accountant, not a Navy Seal. Maybe, just maybe; if luck was on his side then he could get Edward free of the guys that were immediately groping him.

Edward was screaming louder now; their cold claws were all over his face now. They were on his face! None of their thick fingers went near his mouth otherwise he would have bitten them out of sheer desperation. Vaguely in the chaos he was able to make out a **thwack** noise. There it was again; that same noise . . . and again!

In correspondence with the noise, several pair of Locust hands went off of Edward's face. He was slightly more comfortable without those hands there; which really wasn't saying much.

Jasper brought down the bat as hard as he could on the heads of the strange monsters, but they hardly even flinched as he battered their bald, scaly noggins.

Losing focus on Edward, several of the Locusts gazed up with beady yellow eyes and directed their hateful glares at their pitiful attacker. In guttural growls unlike the Kantus' hiss, they began to enunciate, "**Hominid.**"

"**Enemy**"

"**Attack!" **

"**Powdered sugar**"

"**Die, ground walker!**"

And with that several of the Locusts got off of Edward and started to unstrapped their weapons. Jasper then realized how futile his attack was. Having these guys shrug off his attack and then pull guns on him really took the wind out of his sails. He just froze in the Locust's murderous glare.

A little distance away, Art and Zuno had no idea what their next move should be. Art was as stunned as Jasper was and Zuno was panicking. He said of his older cousin, "Art, what should we do?!

Art looked at the bladed weapons his cousin was holding and snatched a sai from him, "First: give me that fucking thing!" Alright, that was taken care of; "Second: let's call the fucking cops."

Then to Art's very great surprise, somebody did ride to the rescue. The bright lights of a pickup truck both blinded him and alerted him to impeding death by car bumper. Zuno was stunned; he did not possess Art's savvy or street smarts. Therefore, Art gave his young cousin a helping hand.

Zuno was yanked aside just as a Nissan Titan pickup truck came tearing across the grass; destroying the lawn and knocking down tombstone because enough of them hadn't been destroyed tonight.

The Nissan Titan sped right towards the Locust horde; which meant that it was on a collision course with Jasper and Edward. The bright lights of the truck blinded the Locusts, including the one that was about to shoot Jasper.

Even thought the Locusts were resistant to Jasper's baseball bat, they proved to be much less resistant to a one ton truck travelling at some sixty miles per hour. Edward cried out in relief as the blinded and shocked Locusts let go of him and tried to run towards more defensible positions. Not far away, the Kantus shrieked in fury and cocked its weapon.

Out of the Nissan Titan jumped about a half dozen men dressed up in Halloween costumes of Batman. The men started to attack the Locusts with flash bang grenades and stolen riot gear.

_Two Minutes Later_

Jasper and Edward were flushed in the face and both were perspiring heavily. They were also holding hands. If an outsider were to see them from behind, they might assume that Jasper and Edward had just been in the process of a good rut; like stag. Such was not the case, however.

If an outsider were to see the duo's haunted, traumatized faces with saucer eyes, there would be no question that they'd been fighting for their lives amidst a living nightmare. Jasper and Edward held hands like their lives depended on it. Edward's body was covered in Locust claw marks and Jasper's nice clothes had grass, dirt and blood stains on them. Both blindly followed Art like lost children.

Art had managed to snag Jasper and Edward from the mess with the Locusts; even though the strange subterranean beasts were popping up all over the city. His next order of business was to find his brother, dump the gay guys with him and then find a way to explain to his dad where he'd been tonight.

From this vantage point, you could see nearly all of Seattle. You could see all of Seattle burning. The so called Emerald City was going up in flames like a Christmas tree with faulty wiring. There was violence in Seattle, naturally; it was a big city after all. It was simply that the normal violence of the city had been given a little push beyond its normal levels.

The city of Seattle was overrun by lunatics, monsters and malefactors. In the middle of it all, Peter's in-laws and relatives had decided to set up a pasta table. Zuno's father, Big Nose Carl had arrived to the fight with his wife in tow, Fat Ellen. Fat Ellen has worked in conjunction with Fat John Ravini to boil enough white pasts and tomato sauce to feed an army. Fat John's assistant Kevin had been forced to run through the warzone to get to John's car and get the required ingredients. In doing so, Kevin had been shot in the arm and chased for some distance by a leather clad woman with a bullwhip and a rubber fist. He deserved a raise for this but Fat John was too cheap for that.

Fat Ellen continued to distribute white pasta to anybody that wanted; but her relatives and in-laws came first. Art led Edward and Jasper into the food line; while they waited he hoped that he could find his brother.

Shell shocked expression breaking a little bit, Jasper inconspicuously tried to survey that else was in line. It looked like he'd fallen out of a war movie and landed smack in the center of a Mafia movie. Two large Sicilians stood in front of Jasper, sharing a flask of wine and giving Jasper dirty looks. Before Jasper's incredulous eyes, one Sicilian pulled an entire wheel of cheese out of his jacket and started to slice himself a piece with a knife that was looked like it was used to kill Julius Caesar.

Edward also inconspicuously cast his gaze around; he allowed relief to show on his features. Peter was here; he was a bit bloodied and bruised but he was alive and well. A massive cut above his eyebrow caused blood to cascade all down the right half of his face, causing the Greek man to have the same style as a mad serial killer. Peter didn't mind being covered in blood though; he loved it when he scared the shit out of people.

Next to Peter were Dennis and Sweet Kapoyanis. Dennis wore a blank expression on his face and carried a human spine in his hands; a knife was in his shoulder but he didn't seem to notice. Kapoyanis was looking rough but happy; his broken nose and mutilated ear couldn't take away the pleasure at having gouged out somebody's eyes.

Peter and his gang casually approached Edward and Jasper, as if they were meeting in a quiet coffee shop instead of a war torn cemetery. "Are you okay?" Peter asked.

"No." Edward replied breezily. Kapoyanis rolled his eyes at Edward; his sympathy was in short supply.

Peter turned to Jasper while trying to staunch the blood flow from his cut with some tissue paper, "And you?"

"I want my mommy." said Jasper.

At the front of the line, Fat Ellen was trying to push a plate of pasta on a man wearing a rubber smiley face mask, "_The body has no mouth; we eat no pasta but rottini_."

But Fat Ellen was adamant, "No, no; this is good pasta. You have some."

It was at that moment that Ellen's husband Carl decided to tell her something, "You stupid _beetch_; can't you see he doesn't want any pasta!"

Ellen shouted back at her husband, "Eh, fuck you; you son of a _beetch!_" The couple's accents were amusing some of the patrons of the pasta table.

Carl shouted back; his four inch long nose bobbed up and down like a bird's beak, "Fuck you! You fucking _beetch_; you are killing me!"

Ellen waved off her idiot husband, "Fuck you, _pustee_!" Which was Greek for the word, "_Faggot_."

Unwilling to put up with his cow of a wife any longer, Carl grabbed a world war one era rifle from one of his drinking buddies and went off to kill someone. Never the brightest bulb, Ellen smiled at Peter victoriously, "I got him good, eh?"

Peter smiled politely, "Yeah, you got him. Give him some more." He then explained to Edward, "I just want to get a plate of pasta and then we'll get the hell out of here." Then he saw the return of his bald headed brother, "Art, where's your car."

Art replied, "It's two minutes from here, it's parked on the sidewalk so it'll be okay." Jasper didn't fully understand how parking on the sidewalk made everything okay but he let it slide.

Edward was still worried despite Art and Peter's daring escape plan. A two minute walk in a place like this was like walking through a minefield; at any instant, you could be blown to bits.

Suddenly, Edward turned around and accidently bumped into a man. His clumsiness caused the man's pasta and tomato sauce to spill all over the front of his grey cassock. Edward started to apologize, "I'm so . . ." he was going to say "sorry" when he noticed a few things about the man. First: his tremendous height and width. The man he'd bumped into was so wide that he'd have to enter a door sideways.

Edward realized that he was eye level with a big golden cross. On another man this cross would have looked gaudy and ridiculous but this man wore it with magnificence and boldness. Edward's blood ran cold as he craned his neck up to look into the man's battered face.

A few of his teeth were missing when Dennis hit him in the face with an oil drum. His glasses were a shattered mess but he refused to take them off. Dried blood covered the lower half of his face; his teeth shone as white as ever. Despite all the abuse he'd taken tonight, Alexander Anderson was glad that he'd run into Edward and Jasper again. He would hate it if he let them live.

The murderous Scotsman spoke as Jasper noticed him, "Ah am the way, the truth an' life. Nae man cometh unto the Father but by me." The sinister Scotsman chuckled, "The Father has sent meh ah fine gift; yer sinning hides on the chopping block."

And with a flourish, Anderson whipped out his last bayonet from his coat and held it up in a fashion that evoked a sushi cook about to disembowel a pair of pretty fish.

On his face was a monstrous grin which didn't express happiness . . . it expressed something else entirely; something much more unpleasant.

Anderson did not worry as Jasper and Edward ran in the direction opposite of him; they were tired and injured from the night's events. They would not be able to outrun him. He started to run after them. He would make their mothers mourn them, and he would enjoy it.

* * *

And that was the end of that :) I had a blast writing this chapter; I hope that you enjoy it to the fullest. The villains known as the body (the guys in rubber masks) are from the Batman graphic novel, _City of Crime_.

I hope that everybody had a good Christmas and a comfortable holiday :) University finals are over and I'm feeling good about how I did. Feel free to check out some of my other stories if you've got the inclination. Special thanks to my regular reviewers, Sleepsheep, Lion in the Land, Shallowswan and Shadows nightmare. Everybody else who reviewed also has my thanks.

Happy New year everybody!

Ta

Master of the Boot ;)


	10. Endgames Part 2

Over the Top: Terror on Gay Street

Chapter 10: Endgames Part 2

Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight, Metal Gear or the KGB. Those are owned by Stephanie Meyer, Sega and Vladimir Putin. Also note, this story is rated M. So you young uns, click the back button while you still can. Metal Gear is owned by Konami I think.

Side Note: This story is based heavily off of another fanfiction story called Over the  
Top by starfish422. Fans of that story can think of this as an AU fanfiction  
of that fanfiction. It begins with the same budding relationship between  
Edward and Jasper and takes a disturbing twist when a slew of colorful new  
characters are added. This story begs the question - how far would their love  
have gone had drunken KGB agents became involved? Fasten your seat belts  
folks, and enjoy the ride.

Thank you to starfish422 for your permission to borrow your take on Jasper  
and Edward as well as certain scenes from your story.  
OTT can be found in the Twilight community, Some like it hot.

* * *

_Seattle, downtown_

The Bus raced through the streets of Seattle. It passed the space needle, which was burning like a giant match. Like London during the time of the plague, The Emerald City was red with flame.

The bus driver did all he could, trying to avoid the burned wreckages of cars and other obstacles. Inside the bus, the band was doing their best to stay calm and not lose their cool. They'd arrived in America for a grand tour which found its halfway point in Seattle.

The show had been good, _sehr gut_ in the band's native language. They had been unprepared for when a giant riot had stormed the ShoWare Center and unleashed a level of violence and bloodshed evocative of the ninth Buddhist hell as foretold by Shakiyamuni.

In the tour bus's darkened exterior, the band leader's voice sounded as rough as the road they drove on. "_Flake, bist du gesund?_"

Flake responded, his voice was lighter. "_Ja, Ich bin gesund, Till._"

Farther up ahead was an army of men wearing rubber Halloween masks. This group of men were The Body, the same group that attacked Jasper earlier. The seeming leader of the group uttered in a hushed voice, "The Body has no ears; we hear no heavy metal music."

Back in the bus, a rioter had latched onto the side of the large vehicle and was hanging off of the driver's side mirror. The mad rioter wore biker leathers and for some reason has tar streaming out of his ears and mouth. Quick as a flash, the bus driver opened his window and shot the tarred biker through the brain. Licking his dry lips, the driver closed the window and prayed to _Gott in Himmel_ that he would live to eat another _Erdbertorte_.

Up ahead, The Body were doing structural damage to a giant cross atop a church. Twenty tons of steel and concrete cross fell to the ground in blasphemous imitation of a falling tree.

The bus driver slammed on the brakes. Till screamed, "S_ie die Strasse sehen!"_

The tires squealed and rubber burned. The twelve ton vehicle carrying the band and their music instruments halted just short of the giant cross. In the shadows, The Body prepared their knives, swords, axes and guns.

Within the bus, the band leader called again. "_Ihr sind nicht toten?_"

A reply came in a chorus of _ja_'s and _super_'s and one "_Ich hat mein hoden gekranken_."

Till ignored his comrade's injured balls for the time being. Glancing out the tinted windows, he could see just the iceberg tip of a psychotic group of people in what looked like Halloween masks. At any moment the band of breaks looked like they might attack. Every single member of the band knew what they must do. The band's bassist, Ollie, smiled at the prospect.

The bus had a most distinct paint design. It had been painted with a fiery battle scene of the Franco-Prussian war being fought by French spiders and Jetpack wearing sharks. Emblazoned in bright red block letters was the name of this musical group. With a slight hiss, the bus doors opened and out came the band, marching like an East German raiding squad. The bus driver cowered behind his seat; there was no way that he was stupid enough to leave the relatively safe confines of his vehicle.

The Body began to charge; they leapt over burned cars like frogs and sprinted with Olympian vigour.

At the bus's side, the drummer and electronic percussion player, nicknamed Doom, was trying to open the compartment where their equipment was held. It was jammed! "_Er ist klemmt_!" Doom grunted. The door would not open.

The army of masked assassins drew closer. They were almost upon the band. A man wearing a Mexican wrestler's mask raised his shotgun.

Just when it looked like it would be the end of Rammstein, death came from above. The shotgun wielding man was stabbed from above by a falling drumstick. The fine wood and lacquer drumstick arced down and lodged itself in the shotgunner's brain.

One man that wore a rubber gorilla mask was downed when a drumstick impaled him through each shoulder and a third went through his spine.

Everywhere, like a deadly rainfall, drumsticks whizzed downwards like a hail of deadly arrows.

They were composed of Till Lindemann, Richard Kruspe, Paul Landers, Ollie Riedel, Doom Schneider and Flake Lorenz. Together they were the German industrial music group known as Rammstein, and they did not survive the fall of the Soviet Union so that they could die at the hands of costumed freaks.

Doom had a crossbow strapped to his arm; he was firing drumsticks out of it with machinegun rapidness.

A few attackers who'd managed to survive Doom's deadly drumstick rain charged at the gang with suicidal fury. These attackers were quickly decimated. They were sliced to ribbons by Olie and Paul's surgical sharp guitars. They were burned to a toasty crisp by Till's flamethrowers. He was a licensed pyrotechnician so it was perfectly legit that he carried flamethrowers everywhere with him.

Flake held the rear flank, electrocuting enemies with a lethal keyboard; stopping hearts and frying brains just frying eggs.

One desperate man tried to stab Doom with a fishing knife, but the vigilant drummer decapitated his opponent with a cymbal strapped to his back.

The Body's attack force was now reduced to a single man. Seeing that finally the battle was lost, the knife wielding man in an Armani suit and a Popeye mask fled. However, he would not get far.

Doom held his crossbow up; his last drumstick was ready to fire. It would be hard to hit a jumping and running target from this distance but it would not be impossible with his skills. The very instant he had a bead on their former attacker, Till shouted "_Feuer Frei!"_ Open fire!

The last drumstick zipped through the air. The fleeing assassin ran to the left. The drumstick veered sharply to the left. From behind a building, the thud of a body could be heard.

_**Rammstein Wins**__: Germantiy_

_The Cemetery_

While Rammstein had their victory, Edward and Jasper were still running for their lives. They were only two simple men that had originally intended to enjoy a night on the town. They lacked the awesome martial prowess of Rammstein, which was why they were running.

They didn't get far when from out of the shadows, Edward's legs were ensnared by a set of bolas, metal weights on either end of a rope.

Edward went down; he became aware of an agonizing pain in his shins right before he rudely met the ground. The impact knocked the wind from him and the rough ground scraped his skin where the Locust horde had ripped open his shirt.

With the wind knocked out of him, Edward panicked and tried to get his lungs functioning again. He suddenly felt someone grab his hand; it was Jasper. Jasper was shouting something at him but he couldn't hear him for the pounding in his head.

To his horror, Edward saw the massive bulk of Alexander Anderson collide with Jasper. With his shocked lungs only just beginning to get back to work again, Edward managed to croak out, "Jas-per!"

If the situation wasn't so life threatening, Jasper would have said that it was all growing old. Actually, he was remarkably calm as Alexander Anderson, Scottish psychopath and lawyer extraordinaire ploughed into him like some monster out of Greek mythology. The most likely explanation was that Jasper's brain circuitry was exhausted from feeling so much fear in a single night.

As he gazed into the face of Alexander Anderson, he felt surprisingly numb. The numbness afforded him a bit of room with which to think. Why was Anderson this way? Where did all of this hatred come from? He didn't know but despite his numbness, he continued to struggle under Anderson's iron grip.

Anderson on the other hand wasn't tired of this. As long as there was a sinner on this earth, he would break their necks, cut their throats, shoot them in the back of the head, stab them, and poison them or whatever else he had to do in order to do God's work.

As he held Jasper's delicate neck in one gorilla sized hand, he quoted his favourite book again. "_Tha LORD is a jealous God, filled with vengeance an' wrath. He takes revenge on all who oppose him an' furiously destroys his enemies! The LORD is slow to get angry, but his power is great, an' he ne'er lets tha guilty go unpunished_!"

He didn't plan to kill Jasper quickly, he wanted to give him exactly what he deserved; with a little interest. Anderson moved his blade over Jasper's abdomen. Edward wouldn't be able to enjoy Jasper's chiselled abs because Anderson was going to disembowel him.

Suddenly, Anderson's green eyes looked up and past Jasper. That enormous horrible grin widened; it looked like his face was going to split in half.

To Jasper's surprise and relief, Anderson's massive hand let go of his throat. He was glad for this but the relief was short lived. Anderson must be planning something really nasty.

Suddenly, Anderson grabbed Jasper by his styled hair. Pain shot thorough Jasper's scalp and he cried out in pain as the giant vigilante began to drag him across the grass.

_The Pasta Table_

Peter finished eating the last of his pasta and then threw his paper plate and plastic cutlery to the side. He was not an environmentally conscious man. Besides, the cemetery's maintenance staff needed to earn their pay. Why not have them pick up after men like Peter?

By the head of the table, Fat Helen was still serving white pasta with tomato sauce and meatballs. Ignorance was bliss as Helen served pasta, unaware of several bullets whizzing past her head. One of the bullets hit her husband in the shoulder.

Wounded, Big Nose Carl cried out to his wife in a mixture of Greek and mangled English. "Help me you fucking _beech_!"

Helen had no sympathy for her injured husband. "Fuck you, I'm serving pasta here!" It was then that a crossbow bolt hit Helen in the leg. The overweight Greek woman went down like a harpooned whale, landing on top of her diminutive husband, breaking his collar bone and nearly putting out an eye on his long nose.

As all this was happening, Peter joined his brother and several of his in-laws and relatives. One of the Italian goons fired a WWI era rifle and bayonet at a band of bikers. His Uncle "Wild Man" Jack Costas wore a neck brace (because he was trying to get disability benefits from his job) and golden contact lenses underneath his sunglasses (because he'd heard that women digged guys that looked like the characters from Twilight.)

Dennis's friends had also shown up for this fight. His boss from the Pawnshop was here, possibly the greasiest man alive. Also along for the ride was Dennis's "girlfriend", skeevy whore named Maria with a switchblade and a nasty infection to match her bad attitude. Then there was Enrique, a greasy midget with bloodshot eyes who hadn't seen a shower or bath in ten days.

Enrique the midget rode atop of Dennis's shoulders like an Indian prince riding an elephant. The barely two-and-a-half-foot-tall man gazed around with vigilance and cradled a flintlock pistol and a Brazilian automatic pistol.

Sweet Kapoyanis meanwhile was being grilled by his dad. Old man Kapoyanis had been out drinking with his deadbeat chums when the entire city had exploded into an unholy firestorm of hardcore combat. Naturally, seeing as how the city was getting fucked like Constantinople when Attila the Hun showed up, Daddy Kapoyanis went out to make sure that his most prized possession in the world was safe: his truck.

And who was it that had Daddy Kapoyanis's truck? Answer: the son of Kapoyanis.

"Daddy" Constantine Kapoyanis was a tall man with dark skin, a big fat gut and a bushy moustache. Sweat soaked through the armpits of his shirt and he had mustard on his jacket when he'd run through the kitchen at the bar and grill while escaping from a horde of Marxist rebels.

He spoke to his son with authority and hardness. "What happened to the truck, Vasili?"

Sweet shook like a leaf. He'd faced killer nuns and Russian cowboys but they didn't scare him half as much as his own father did. "Dad, I swear, it wasn't my fault. It went like—

"You lost the truck!" The old man's gut quivered as he shook with anger.

Sweet almost panicked. "No dad, I didn't lose the truck! I still know where it is. We can get it later." He hoped his old man would forgive him for this.

"Where are the keys?"

Kapoyanis junior smiled and started to pat down his pockets. His reassuring smile quickly made way for a nervous look of fear. Oh shit, he'd lost the keys!

While Sweet was getting a new asshole ripped by his dad, Peter looked around. "Hey, where's Edward and that other guy?"

"Where are the fucking donuts?" A massively muscled man screamed in a thick accent.

Peter turned to face the source of the voice. It was a large, powerfully built Kenyan man named Thaibiti; his friends called him Sparky. He was a buddy that Peter knew from the boxing gym. "I want my fucking donuts!"

Peter tried to calm down his friend. "Take it easy, Sparky. Here comes Hong with the donuts now."

Indeed, the valiant Korean fighter was returning from the fracas with a giant box of donuts. The hearty South Asian man was bloodied but still standing tall and strong. Behind Hong were the best of the Korean fighters. The rest of them were off defending their home turf. These men were all in one way or another driven to fight for Peter. Whether he was an old friend or he'd redone the tiles in their kitchen or gotten revenge on the bullies that tormented their kids in school, they would stand by Peter.

As Peter's inner circle drew tighter, his brother Art stood to the side. They'd eaten their fill of pasta and now he wanted to get the hell out of here. His girlfriend was at home waiting for him. The bald headed man was talking to her on his cell phone. "Erm, have you tried clicking on the help bar?" Pause. "No, you have to plug in the computer first?" Pause. "Yes." Pause. "No, you can't plug it in with your mind." Longer pause. "No Erm, remember—you don't have the power of telekinesis." Yelling from the other end of the line. "Have you taken your anti-psychotic medication?"

The conversation was cut off as Art's brother grabbed him and dragged him into the circle of fighters. "Move it, Art!" Peter shouted.

Trying not to invoke the rage of his psychotic but very loving girlfriend, Art said into he phone hurriedly, "Erm, I gotta go now. I'll call you back in five minutes."

Peter and his best, toughest buddies were all arranged in a circle. Their number included Art, Hong, a bunch of Hong's buddies, Dennis and Enrique the midget, a bunch of dudes from the boxing gym, and sweet Kapoyanis, just returned from verbal abuse by his father. Also there were Little Dominic, who could drink two hundred pound men under the table, and Big Pisan, a man with gorilla hands, one of which was frozen into a perpetual claw because of arthritis. These and a few others made up their ranks.

Finally, there was Sparky. "Where are my fucking donuts!!!?"

Peter gave Hong an exasperated look. "Give him the donuts, quick."

No sooner had he said this than Sparky forcible grabbed the donuts. Grabbing two donuts for himself, Sparky passed off the donut box to the next man.

As the donuts made their rounds, Peter addressed the men like a general. "We're here to rescue a buddy of mine called Edward. He wears a nice suit, has hair the color of a penny and he likes to fuck other guys. Any questions?"

Uncle Bill raised his hand; he'd just arrived on the scene in time for donuts. He caressed a tire iron. "Will Edward latch onto us and make us gay?"

"No, I'm pretty sure he won't do that." Then he focused on an Italian man called Bad News Antonio. "Hey Antonio, where's your other sock?"

Bad News Anthony explained why his left sock was missing. "I had to take a shit and there was no toilet paper. I couldn't wipe my ass with my sleeve."

Several seconds of awkward silence followed.

Art piped up. "Has anybody seen Edward?"

Speaking through a mouthful of chewed donut, Sparky rumbled, "Yeah, he went in _that_ direction." He held up a finger to indicate where he'd seen Edward run.

Peter shouted, "LET'S KICK SOME ASS!" They all cheered back, even Art, who just wanted to get the fuck out of here as fast as possible.

***

Jasper stopped screaming as the man trying to kill him let go of his hair. Groaning, he put both well manicured hands, now bloodied, to his blond locks. He did not have long to see that all his hair was in place because at that moment, a size seventeen foot came down on his stomach.

The impact of Anderson's foot did not wind Jasper but it caused pain to spasm through his abdomen. In vain he tried to move Anderson's leg, but it was a fool's errand.

In his state of shock and pain, he did not see what Anderson was doing. The gargantuan zealot was using his last bayonet to try and jimmy open a large piece of equipment left here by the maintenance staff of the cemetery.

It took a little finagling before Alexander was able to pry open the panel. Beaming with triumph, the giant man put his skills with electronics to good use. At one point, Anderson had taken a training course for electricians. After all, it always helps to know the workings of power tools if you plan to use them to do God's work.

Suddenly, the large machine roared to life as Anderson manipulated its metal and wire guts. Its initial roar was muted as Anderson grabbed the machine's partly disassembled controls and turned down a dial. He wanted Jasper to hear what he had to say.

Jasper gasped as the weight of a five hundred pound man was taken off his stomach. His relief was short lived as two giant hands in white gloves grabbed him by the shirt collar and two arms as thick as his legs raised him to face level with the Catholic murderer.

Face to face with Alexander Anderson, Jasper was looking into the face of pure evil. The giant had been terrifying enough when he foamed and raved, grinned and howled. Now that he was calm, Anderson looked unspeakable.

Anderson looked completely calm. The ear to ear grin was replaced by a subdued smirk. His enormous green eyes were narrowed and his breathing was slow and calm. But behind this image of mocking calmness was hatred like nothing that Jasper had ever seen before.

The blood in his veins ran cold and his mouth went dry. Now he could clearly see what Anderson was. In that one single moment, Alexander Anderson had revealed himself to Jasper without having to say a single word.

His original pair of spectacles had been smashed, so he'd taken a new pair from a dead man. These new glasses had been smashed; the left lens was intact while the other was a jagged mess. The intact lens glowed in the moonlight, while from behind the broken lens; Anderson's green eye seemed to peek from behind time and space.

Behind those green eyes, Jasper could see a soul that was completely empty. The devil's greatest trick was not to make humanity believe that he did not exist, it was to put on the markings of God and call himself holy.

Jasper would have assumed that with his anger subsided, that Anderson might be less deadly. Not so. Anderson was a murderer of the most cold blooded order; a monster who could kill without any empathy and take as much time as he needed to do the job.

In a half whisper, Anderson uttered to Jasper a quote of the holy book. "Ah will sweep away everythin' in all your land," says the LORD. "Ah will sweep away both people and animals alike. E'en the birds of the air an' the fish in the sea will die. Ah will reduce the wicked to heaps of rubble, along wi' the rest of humanity," says the LORD.

His voice began to rise from the half whisper to a normal speaking voice. Though is words were not loud the passion for destruction was there. It oozed off of his words and evaporated into a cloud of zealotry that could choke infants, "Ah will crush Judah and Jerusalem wi' ma fist an' destroy e'ery last trace o' their Baal worship. Ah will put an end to all tha' idolatrous priests, so that e'en tha' memory of them will disappear."

Anderson paused from his speech. Letting go of one massive hand, he started to adjust the settings on the machine. It was then that Jasper got a good look at what it was. He began to whimper with terror and try to break that unbreakable grip. Anderson was going to feed him into a woodchipper!

The bestial man grabbed Jasper by his collar and belt. Cradling Jasper in his arms, he paid no mind to the young man's struggles or pleas for mercy. Mercy would not be forthcoming. "For they go up to their roofs and bow to the sun, moon, and stars. They claim to follow the LORD, but then they worship Molech, too. So now I will destroy them! And I will destroy those who used to worship me but now no longer do. They no longer ask for the LORD's guidance or seek my blessings."

Jasper sobbed and cried. "Please, no! You don't have to do this!" Tears fell from his eyes as his mind flashed back to his mother and father, to his sister and her husband, finally to Edward. All of Jasper's terror and misery, all of his confusion was lost on Alexander Anderson. He had to die.

Anderson flashed Jasper his devil's grin. "Welcome to hell, lad." Just like that, he used his mammoth foot to kick the wood chipper into high gear and then started to shove Jasper into it.

Jasper tried to fight, he really did, but he was no match for Anderson's strength. His hands couldn't hold on. His feet slipped. He screamed louder as if someone could save him. "No! No! NO!"

For one terrifying moment, one of his feet went into the two meshing wheels that fed wood into the machine. He pulled his leg back and off came his shoe. The other end of the chipper spat out a few strips of leather.

Anderson gave Jasper another shove. Jasper was about to get his foot caught in when all of the sudden. . .

CLANG!

Something hard and metallic hit Anderson on the shoulder. It was Edward!

Annoyed, the rhinoceros of a man threw Jasper to the ground. Brutally, he delivered a sharp kick to Jasper's face. Jasper lay still.

Edward looked down in horror at Jasper's prone form. A layer of perspiration covered his pale features. His former proud head of wild hair was matted with sweat and dirt. One of his shins hurt like hell when he put weight on that leg; no doubt from Anderson's bola.

He had meant to hit Anderson over the head after getting loose of the bolas and finding a conveniently placed shovel.

Edward had a problem now. Right now, the entire world was composed of him, Anderson and Jasper within this clearing. There was fighting all over the city, but it might have as well been a million miles away.

Anderson advanced with a measured stride.

In vain, Edward tried to take another swing at Anderson. He would have hit him right on the side of the head, had Anderson not caught the shovel in midair and snatched it from Edward's grasp.

So now Edward was staring down a man who was able and willing to murder who had physical superiority and a number years of combat training under his belt. He stood no chance.

CRACK!

Edward jumped at the sound, immediately sending pain signals shooting up his shin. Anderson had broken the shovel in half. He dropped the handle and kept the blade.

Anderson was getting closer and Edward was getting nearer to Panic.

Suddenly, Edward's vision was filled with light as Anderson struck him savagely across the face with full force. The impact cracked Edward's cheekbone and knocked a few teeth loose.

Edward didn't black out. Instead, he lay on the ground moaning. His face felt like it was on fire. He couldn't think clearly. The blow had knocked his brain about; his world had shrunk even more.

It was then that Edward noticed that he was being lifted up, but he couldn't properly feel or see what was happening.

It was only when he felt himself being slammed against the trunk of a tree did he finally return to full senses. He truly wished that he hadn't.

The ugly mug of Alexander Anderson was only six inches away from his face and he was wearing a pig shit eating grin. Actually, it was more of an eating human flesh grin.

Edward tried to draw breath but couldn't. Anderson was holding him by the throat. He could only mewl as he saw what Anderson had in store for him.

Positioned Just above Edward's gut was the pointy end of the broken shovel. At any moment, Anderson was going run it right through Edward and pin him to the tree.

Not needing to rush, Anderson gently pressed the sharp tip of wood into Edward's exposed stomach. Little by little, he began to apply more force to it. Edward's features contorted in pain as the wood broke the skin and a small trickle of blood started to come down from the sight of injury.

Anderson twisted the piece of wood around; soon he'd thrust it through the liver. Except that he never got to. Somebody pressed the long, shiny barrel of a gun to his cheek from an upward angle.

BANG!

Edward tumbled to the ground, his ears ringing from the gunshot. Now it was Anderson's turn to fall to the ground and clutch his face. The bullet had sliced open his cheek but had done no major damage to the bone or teeth.

None of this worried Edward, because at that moment, somebody pushed a single action Colt Revolver into his face.

He heard a voice that would be the stuff of his nightmares for as long as he lived. "There's nothing like shoving a long silver bullet into a well greased chamber."

Edward froze with shock and fear.

Revolver Ocelot said, "But you'd know all about well greased chambers, wouldn't you Edward?"

* * *

Thank you ladies and gentlemen, you've been a wonderful audience :) That Rammstein thing was in total parody of Mortal Kombat.

I'd like to thank my regular readers and reviewers. Also remember, that in my other stories I'm open to requests. Not in this one, because we've only got a little ways to go. Here are the German translations. "Are you healthy, Flake?" "Yes, I'm healthy, Till." "Watch the road!" "Are you guys not dead?" "I hurt my balls." "It's jammed."

Ta

Master of the Boot


	11. Endgames Part 3The Closest Shave

Terror on Gay Street: End games-The Closest Shave

Chapter Eleven

Disclaimer: I own nothing. I don't own Metal Gear, The Body, Twilight, or Hellsing or anything else that's been copywrited.

* * *

Putting it poetically, Edward's life was a piece of shit. That's the poetic way to say it because the ugly way would be so unfathomably vulgar that it would make a Hell's Angel's head explode.

How else could you describe a situation where a gay man tries to get some nookie for the night and finds himself surrounded by a gang of former special operations freak shows with the intent to rape said gay man?

He had never been so afraid in his life, not even ten minutes ago when Zorin Blitz wanted to shove a knife into his anal canal.

From his present position, his pretty boy face was almost touching with the ghoulish visage of Revolver Ocelot.

Blood ran down the old pervert's face and one arm was missing but actually he was doing better. Standing next to him was a bag of blood hanging off of a mobile stand. Life giving red fluid flowed into Ocelot's veins through a plastic tube. Already the colour was returning to his face. But that rosy pallor was no comfort to youthful and springy Edward.

Even though the night was warm, Edward shivered like a leaf in autumn. A leaf was right. He was a small thing tossed about callously by fate's sadistic hand, desperately trying to make sense of it and trying to unite with another leaf named Jasper.

At the moment, Jasper was temporarily shoved out of Edward's mind. The reason for that was that Ocelot had the long, silvery barrel of his gun pressed under Edward's chin. The metal felt cool against his sweaty skin. It felt as uncomfortable as the point of a knife.

The young party goer's breaths were shallow and quick. This was a nightmare from which there would be no waking and Ocelot was the sandman.

Slowly and leisurely, Ocelot took his gun away from Edward's chin and began to wave it over his chest. With old but sharp eyes, Revolver took in the multiple fresh cuts on Edward's fit chest. The struggle with Anderson had reopened many of those small cuts caused by groping from the Locust horde. Tiny streams of blood mixed in with sweat and the sweat stung at the wounds.

Lazily, the barrel of the Colt revolver passed over Edward's heart and stayed there. He willed himself to stay perfectly still but the shivering would not stop. Somewhat foolishly, he tested the strength of the men that held his arms. He might have as well tested the strength of steel. There was no escape.

Holding Edward prisoner was Psycho Mantis and Liquid snake. Psycho Mantis was a telepathic, telekinetic, anorexic gimp in leather bondage gear with a gas mask to make the set complete. The freakishly pale and thin man hailed from Belarus. Liquid Snake was a FOXHOUND member plucked from Britain's elite air force units. He was quite normal save for his willingness to kill and for the fact that his tendency for long speeches rivalled that of Ocelot.

Amazingly steady for a man who'd lost an arm and had his head smashed into a brick wall, Ocelot took his gun from poor Edward's heart and held it over Anderson. The giant man held his injured face in pain. His white gloves were now solid crimson.

Casually, Ocelot took his pistol and slammed the butt of it into Anderson's head. The corporate lawyer and vigilante groaned and hit the ground.

Anderson took huge, deep breaths like an anesthetised beast just waking up from a stupor. Trembling, he brought his huge hands to the side of him in order to pick himself up.

Looking down at the terrible man, Edward could hardly believe that a simple pistol whip had affected him so severely.

Not about to let Anderson clear his head, Ocelot kicked Anderson's left arm from under him. The Scottish murderer's face hit the ground, spilling his life's blood on the grass and getting dirt into the wound. That deep, heavy breathing continued.

As prone as he was, Edward was still deeply terrified of Alexander Anderson. He'd seen what Anderson had been about to do to Jasper.

Speaking of Jasper, he was still knocked out cold right next to the wood chipper. He would have looked so peaceful if it wasn't for that nasty gash on his head. With his blond hair and beautiful complexion, he looked like an angel.

Ocelot too looked like an angel. The moon, high in the sky, cast a halo on his silver hair. The thing was he looked like a fallen angel; one of the angels who worked on Lucifer's payroll.

Getting down on one knee, Ocelot lowered himself to Edward's level so that they could better speak. Edward was too terrified to look away.

"So Edward, it's been a long chase and it's been fun but everything has its end."

The intended rape victim didn't know what to say. He didn't want to play Ocelot's game but what choice did he really have in the matter?

Ocelot continued. "You have caused me so much grief," his voice was rough and threatening. "You and the big man have caused me much grief, Edward."

Two of the FOXHOUND operatives grabbed Anderson by the arms. Ordinarily he would have thrown them prone like rag dolls, but he was exhausted and his head was spinning. One of Ocelot's cronies, a blood drinking shape shifter named Decoy Octopus, placed a gun to the back of Anderson's head. All that was needed to send Anderson to his beloved God was Ocelot's word.

"I'm going to rape you, Edward, and then I'll rape your little friend and make you watch." Revolver Ocelot was sickeningly casual in his tone; like it was all no big deal. "But there is something you can do to stop the rape."

Edward perked up did not get his hopes up. Based on his experiences his night, Ocelot wasn't an overflowing well of human compassion. "Really?"

Ocelot winked at Edward. "Yes, that's right. All you have to do is say 'yes' and it won't be rape anymore." Then he began to laugh heartily at his own foul joke. This blood transfusion was doing him wonders.

Around them all, the friends of Ocelot laughed like the pack of Jackals they were.

Edward wept bitterly. "Damn you, Ocelot. Damn you." Tears stung his eyes at the injustice of it all.

Ocelot went to playfully ruffle Edward's hair but then he realized that one of his arms was missing. Fucking fate! Wasn't losing his arm once before enough?

In frustration, Ocelot shot up and kicked Edward in the ribs with his cowboy boot. It was a hard soled and pointed cowboy boot so it hurt like hell.

Edward doubled over and started coughing and gasping. That Ocelot had the kicking power of a mule. In a small corner of his mind, he wished that he'd be as fit as Ocelot if he lived that long. A larger part of his mind wished that Ocelot burned in hell forever.

This reminded Ocelot of something in the past. "This reminds me of something in the past," he said. Behind his opaque gas mask, Psycho Mantis rolled his eyes.

Ocelot caught the various looks of annoyance. Nobody was going to interrupt one of his long as hell speeches. At least Liquid Snake looked enthusiastic enough.

Ocelot gave everybody a dirty look. "If anybody has to use the bathroom then go now."

Liquid Snake looked happy enough to listen to a long speech. He even pulled out a can of beer nuts and began happily snacking on them.

Peter and the gang ran at full tilt through the cemetery. They'd had to fight their way through several armed gangs and even a crew of Somalian pirates that took a wrong turn. The whole lot of them were sprinting and waving their weapons around like barbarian raiders on PCP. It was only a matter of time before they found Edward and kicked the ass of anybody who tried to hurt him.

And they'd try to save Jasper if there was time. Peter really didn't care much for him. He seemed kind of clingy and annoying.

During their violent run, Peter and the crew were joined by several new faces. Among them was Art's mentally ill girlfriend Ermioni. The read haired, dark skinned Greek woman wore the best perfumes and had fled Greece after doing something very dark in Corinth that resulted in the deaths of eleven men.

She agreed to become Art's girlfriend in the first place because he could speak Greek as fluent as any native of the country. Their relationship had grown into something more though.

She leapt to the front line like a cat, wearing her leather gloves with razor sharp claws.

Also added to their numbers Gerald McIntyre; a Canadian construction worker who worked with Peter on various jobs. He ran alongside Big Dennis and Enrique the midget.

Dawn wasn't far away. The night had passed quickly in all the adrenaline. Despite this rush, the heaviness of each passing minute was impressed by the tremendous amount of loss of life amidst the uncontrollable rioting.

As they ran, they came across a roadway designed to allow cars into the cemetery. The gang was about to cross the road when a black car rammed through the cemetery gates before screeching to a halt in front of the unruly mob.

Sweet Kapoyanis pointed at the sleek and heavily armoured vehicle with its swept back tail fins. "Hey, it looks like a bat." Indeed, vaguely the car seemed to be built along the theme of bats.

Suddenly, the tinted glass of the driver's seat rolled down. Sitting in the driver's seat was a scowling man dressed up like a bat. His suit was well armoured and his chin was stubbled.

Slowly, Batman raised up his right hand. Everyone watched him with expectation, even Ermioni who had never read any Batman comics.

Then, Batman raised his middle finger at everyone; the symbol in North America and the United Kingdom which meant, "_Fuck you._"

Everyone just gawked at this unexpected message from Gotham's caped crusader.

Slowly lowering his hand, Batman rolled up the window and most rapidly slammed his boot onto the gas pedal. The tires of the batmobile screeched and rubber was burned. The car peeled right out of there; tearing out with a roar of an engine.

Everybody stared; slack jawed at what they'd seen. Dennis, with Enrique the midget on his shoulders asked what everybody was thinking. "What was that?"

A few seconds of awkward silence passed. Then Peter started brandishing his weapon and screaming. Soon the entire posse was waving their weapons and screaming. Their fighting spirit had come back. Then they charged like a herd of horses.

Meanwhile, Ocelot was just finishing his speech. "—and so I fought in Zanzibar Land _and_ got a signed autograph from Will Smith." Satisfied that everything was said that needed to be said, Ocelot gave everyone a sour look. "There, I'm finished. Was that really so awful?"

Liquid Snake begged to differ. "Not at all, Ocelot; that was most entertaining and riveting."

Decoy Octopus smacked threw a pen at Liquid's head. Nobody needed to encourage Ocelot's habit, least of all Liquid.

Psycho Mantis pointed a skinny finger at the blond haired former spy. "You're not allowed to talk."

Edward was still very miserable and metaphorically his life was still a piece of shit. Revolver Ocelot wasn't only a soulless, amoral Russian bastard spawned from God-knew-what frozen hell, he was also painfully boring. Having to sit through Ocelot's speech about Red Versus Blue had been bad enough, but this was so awful that he almost wished that they'd kill him now.

Alexander Anderson had similar feelings. "Somebodey kill meh now," he groaned. His head had cleared some but now his hands were cuffed behind his back. Through the pain and mental fog, Anderson's mind was already forming a plan to get out of his predicament and maybe even kill a few of these bastards.

Those plans had to be put on hold when Ocelot kicked him in the head, killing a few myriad more of the seven foot Scotsman's brain cells.

Ocelot began to spin his pistol dramatically. He started to explain the rules to Edward. "Press the left trigger to struggle. Press the right trigger to plead and beg for mercy. There is no way to exit this game, my friend."

Curiously, the thing that went through Edward's head was not, "_oh no, he's going to rape me_." Instead it was, "_what is this, a video game?"_

Suddenly Ocelot stepped back. "I haven't got enough blood to get elevated," he rasped. "Vamp, you go first."

Edward's field of vision was then full of the man called Vamp. Romanian by birth, Vamp looked exactly like the mythological creature he was named after. From his pale skin, pointed ears to his elongated canines, he honestly looked like a vampire.

Shirtless, Vamp proudly showcased a rugged and hairy chest. He gave Edward one look and then licked his lips with an inhumanly long tongue. Edward shuddered at the sight of that long, moist organ and prayed that the guy didn't have rabies

A smile twisted Vamp's demonic face as he began to reach below his waist. Edward did not want to see this so he just turned his head and shut his eyes. Opening his eyes again, Edward saw that Vamp had a knife but his pants were still on. Evidently Vamp liked to keep his knife right over his crotch; making for some very strange moments in knife fighting practice.

Vamp waved the knife around gracefully before suddenly slashing Edward across the shoulder. Edward gasped in pain at the shallow cut.

To his everlasting horror, Vamp took the bloodied knife and licked Edward's blood off of it. The members of FOXHOUND all laughed unpleasantly at this.

A voice from the side caught everyone's attention. "That's disgusting." Jasper had returned to consciousness.

Jasper had been unconscious; afloat in the merciful sea of oblivion. Now he kind of wished that he hadn't woken up. Gazing at each of the lunatics and freaks that held Edward and him captive, he wondered if they'd been killed by Alexander Anderson. "Edward, are we in hell?"

Edward nodded gravely. "Yes, Jazz, we are."

Vamp then addressed Jasper. "Now, this one looks much better than the other one. He'll make a fine dance partner."

Jasper found his escape blocked by the twins, Jane Mouse and Alec Lizard; two psychotic, androgynous fraternal twins with shaven heads. He whimpered as Vamp grabbed him by the collar.

The scary Romanian began to tell Jasper a little of his history. "When I was a boy, a bomb went off when my family was in church. Trapped under a giant cross for two days, I survived by drinking my dead family's blood."

Oh, that was just gross. Jasper wanted to vomit.

"But the reason they call me vamp is that I'm a bisexual."

Oh, that was . . . interesting.

Vamp then jumped backwards like a professional dancer. "Now, let's start this dance!" He reached towards his crotch again and pulled away a small box. Did he keep everything around his crotch?

He pressed a button on the side of it and threw it aside. The small box expanded into a full sized rack and Jasper and Edward both screamed for help when they saw what kind of a rack it was.

The whole fancy affair was packed with fluffy handcuffs (in camo patterns,) dildos, condoms and bottles of lube. Vamp was carrying a portable spy kink tool set.

Vamp laughed maniacally. Grabbing one of the throwing knives strapped to his arm, he threw the blade butt first where Jasper kneeled. The knife bounced upwards and sliced the buttons on Jasper's shirt. A second similar knife sliced through his belt. Jasper's scream became a high pitched shriek.

The Romanian knife throwing expert laughed. "I can't wait to take you two through hell." He spun around and grabbed a bottle off the spy kink rack. A small squeeze and the cap came off, spraying Edward with lubricating lotion. "I'll fill you both with my hot FOXHOUND gel."

Edward screamed as if the white lotion on him was burning hot.

Vamp spun around again and started to make obscene humping motions in the air. He was really getting into this. The deranged maniac was going to have a ball. "I'll make you both squeal like my pink _Ceausescu_!" Hideously, he put two fingers to his face, one on each cheek. As he did this he started to flick out his tongue grossly as he did so.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" Jasper screamed to the heavens.

Suddenly, Vamp was hit in the face by a flashlight beam. He hissed like a movie vampire as the light seared his eyes. A split second later, an actual flashlight hit Vamp in the face, knocking him down.

Edward cried not in terror but in joy as Peter and the outlaw in-laws had appeared.

Ocelot and his pack of degenerates got into fighting stance and took to battle, but as tough as they were they'd never faced off against enemies like this.

Psycho Mantis held off Sweet and Hong with his psychic attacks. Hong danced nimbly around the lightning bolts thrown by the Belarusian psychic. But Mantis's extra sensory mind was so overloaded by all the psychopaths in the vicinity that he failed to spot Ermioni attacking him until it was too late.

The mentally deranged Greek woman landed on his back like a cat, slashing with her clawed gloves and biting on his neck. Mantis shrieked like a little girl and levitated into the air trying to dislodge her.

Riding on top of Dennis's shoulders, Enrique the midget fired his flintlock pistol at Vamp, who deflected the lead ball with a well placed throwing knife.

Liquid Snake fought ten men at a time. Knocking down the battle hardened men and women like nine pins. He even killed a few of them, slaying Big Pisan among others. Insane with rage at the loss of a relative, Little Zaphino took a two by four and threw it like a spear. The three foot long piece of wood hit Liquid in the mouth, knocking out his teeth, breaking his jaw and eliminating him from the fight.

Bad News Antonio went head to head with Decoy Octopus. The ghoulish shape shifter had drunk some of Antonio's blood through a wound and now perfectly mimicked his adversary in every way.

The two Antonios were then surrounded by a circle of Italians with guns. A dozen eclectic guns with itchy fingers on the triggers were set to kill. The false Antonio was about to try and get them to kill the real Antonio, but the angry mob shot them both. The question of who was who was quickly settled. Antonio shrugged off the gunshot wound to the gut while Decoy Octopus writhed in pain. They shot Octopus in the head quickly.

They wouldn't call him "Bad news" if he couldn't take a hit and keep on coming.

Alexander Anderson was nowhere to be found; not retreating, just running to a better tactical position.

Edward was too tired to run and Jasper was even worse off. Instead of fleeing, both of them hid behind a large tombstone and clung to one another like a child might cling to a comfort blanket.

Comfort was short lived because two sets of identical boots stomped in front of them. It was the twins. Edward looked at the freakish twins in shock but Jasper jumped to life. There was an iron bar lying next to the grave, dropped by one of the fighters. Things were not going well for FOXHOUND. They'd never met anyone as crazy as them before.

Jasper raised his iron bar like a baseball bat. "Stay back," he warned the twins, "or I'll hurt you."

Jane and Alec just smiled at each other. Jane and Alec weren't their real names any more than mouse or lizard. They weren't twins either, just a two kids who grew up to become monsters together.

Jane Mouse was a torture artist who frequently practiced on herself. Every inch of her skin was covered in scars, brand marks or tattoos. Her code name an utter paradox of her fearsome, shaven headed appearance.

Alec Lizard was a drug addict with a PHD in chemistry. His specialty was concocting potions that killed the senses and deprived the human body of all feeling. He also self medicated; giving himself special drug cocktails that would render him immune to pain but would keep his head clear. In the past he'd also prepared stimulant formulas for himself and special fast acting drugs to counter the torturous effects wrought by his "sister."

Alec's face was utterly handsome except for involuntary tremors and tics brought about by his drug habit along with the occasional psychotic fit.

At Jasper's useless threat, Jane and Alec smiled at each other. Jane stepped forward, clad in a tactical suit spray painted black. Jasper swung the bar at her but with her strength she caught it easily.

With an easy martial arts move, Jasper was thrown to the ground and winded. He didn't have time to reflect on his winded state because he could hear Edward screaming.

Looking up, he saw Jane squeezing Edward's testicles. Jane had a smile that on another face would look innocent.

Jasper tried to run towards Edward but was held back by Alec. Edward's shrieks were terrible and ear splitting. He was like a kitten being pecked to death by a merciless raven.

Jasper pleaded to the shaven headed Alec. "Please, just stop her!"

Alec's mouth twitched a little. He was even less inclined to smile than his "sister," but he enjoyed himself just as much as she did. "Why?" he asked.

Over Edward's screams and the din of battle, Jane explained an interesting factoid about torture. "If you squeeze a man's testicles for a long enough time, he'll eventually black out." She then gave Alec a hardened look.

Alec Lizard responded. Punching a button on his dark blue tactical suit, he clenched an armoured fist. Syringes shot from between the knuckles and these were immediately driven into Edward's neck.

Jane let go of Edward's eggs and he fell to the ground. The drug that Alec injected him with did its job almost instantly. The pain was gone, but so was most of the feeling in the lower half of his body.

Alec hit another button on his suit and a fresh set of syringes popped up from his glove. Placid face twitching, he explained to Jasper. "I'm going to inject him with a drug that will heighten the pain sensations."

Jasper gasped while Jane giggled in a fashion that was frighteningly childish. "Oh Alec, you know what I like."

He smiled at her in a way that no man should ever smile at his sister. "Don't I always, Janey?"

She giggled schoolgirlishly and pulled out an Indian punching blade called a katar. The katar's blade split into three parts like a pair of scissors.

Suddenly, Jane was attacked by Sweet Kapoyanis and Daddy Kapoyanis. Shouting in Greek, Daddy Kapoyanis threw a hot pot of coffee into Jane's face, causing her to wail in agony like a banshee. The elderly, overweight Greek man crowed in triumph and raised the coffee pot over his head. Unfortunately the pot was still half full of scalding brewed beans.

Papa Kapoyanis's eyes widened as his shirt was stained brown by boiling coffee. He cursed in English. "Oh fuck, I'm on fire!" And he ripped open his shirt to expose all of his white carcass meat.

Edward felt his stomach flip upside down with disgust at the shirtless fat man who was jumping up and down to try and dissipate the heat. His obese man boobs and belly looked like three pale, hairy butterball turkeys bounding up and down.

Sweet Kapoyanis took on Alec, ducking and dodging to avoid the syringe loaded gloves. Kapoyanis tripped and Alec nearly got him. Luckily, Sweet was saved by his stoner girlfriend, Bella Swan.

Alec leapt back as his body armour blocked a small calibre bullet. A brown haired girl with doe like eyes and pallid skin aimed a handgun at him. She looked angry that somebody had tried to attack her boyfriend.

Reacting with the speed of a cobra, Alec hit a dozen buttons on his armoured wrist. Then he punched her a dozen times, hitting her with a witch's brew of chemicals.

But after getting a dose of stimulants, depressants, hallucinogenics and contraceptives powerful enough to take out a bull elephant, Bella Swan still stood.

Alec just stared at her. "How are you still alive?"

Bella didn't answer. She just took a step in Alec's direction and head butted him on the nose. Alec went down. Then he went down for good when Bella shot him in the head.

This made Jane scream in anguish as her "brother" was now dead. She charged Bella like an animal defending its mate. The two girls struggled for Bella's gun and Jane's katar. They engaged in a bitch fight so epic that it would require its own separate story.

Suddenly, Bella and Jane were broken apart by a flying object that was aimed for Edward. The flying man sized object hit Edward and then collided with Jasper.

Jasper and Edward lay flat on the ground at the snorting face of Ocelot. Adrenaline totally overwhelmed all of the Russian's logic and reason. All he could think about was bloody, red murder. He snorted like a bull and actual steam came out of his nostrils. "I WILL KILL YOU BOTH!"

But as he was cocking his pistol, Ocelot had his turn to be knocked over—by Peter! Peter wrestled with Ocelot like an alligator wrestler. Ocelot spun and twisted in Peter's grip like a whirling dervish. In the fray, Peter grabbed Ocelot's hand and slammed the gun against a tombstone, smashing the gun into useless bits.

Not to be outdone, Ocelot backhanded Peter with more force than most twenty year olds. Peter flew back from the force of the impact.

There was a slick sound as Ocelot pulled from his jacket a hidden knife. With one foot in the grave, he lunged at Peter, but the hardy bar fighter was ready.

A powerful punch met up with Ocelot's face. Peter's knuckles hit Ocelot right in the upper teeth. When Peter yanked away his hard fist, it took Ocelot's teeth with it. Ocelot's upper front teeth now were firmly buried in Peter's knuckles.

Both men screamed in pain and threw a mighty punch with their left hand. Ocelot was missing his right hand and Peter had teeth in his.

In a mighty cosmic coincidence, the two men punched each other at the exact same time. Both of their heads flew sideways at the same time. Then for a split second, they looked at each other as if to say, "_What the hell, man?_" And then they both fell unconscious.

Jasper and Edward were about to run again but they were now confronted by national guardsmen backed up by elements of NATO forces. Not knowing what else to do, they raised their hands in surrender.

A short distance away, the in-laws and their buddies were running like hell, as were the remaining members of FOXHOUND.

Bella was a bit slow on the uptake and continued punching the heavily scarred and now burned Jane. "Take that," she huffed and gave Jane another punch, "and that, and that and—

She then noticed that she had an international coalition of soldiers pointing guns at her. "I didn't do it," she said.

* * *

Well everybody had a hard time in this chapter with much craziness but I hope it was fun. To those of you who aren't familiar with Metal Gear, FOXHOUND is a now defunct Special Forces team that all went rogue except for Solid Snake. Speaking of that, my deadliest warrior story has a new chapter coming up which stars Solid Snake. For those Metal Gear fans, you gotta see this one.

And for the record, Vamp's crazy behavior was inspired by the Tenacious D song, _Beelzeboss_. Check it out if you love rock and swearing.

Now to honour my regular readers. Special thanks go to: _Shallowswan, Lion in the Land, Blacksand1, Shadow's Nightmare and Sleepsheep. _These are all very talented writers and any one of them has got a ton of stories to satisfy any reader.

Ta :D

Master of the Boot


	12. Closure

Over the Top: Terror on Gay Street

Chapter Eleven: Closure

Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight or any other of the various crossovers in this story. They belong to their owners and I make no profit from this story.

Warning: This chapter contains lemons, my first ever lemons. When I started writing I was afraid to write sex scenes because I knew nothing about it. Now I'm a little worldlier and I went ahead and did it. There's no penetration but it's still adult content. If you do not like that, please turn back. Or if you like this story but not sex between men then I will mark the scene with asterixes and you won't have to be bothered by it. If my dad could read this chapter, he'd likely freak so don't tell him I wrote this.

* * *

Edward sat in a jail cell downtown. In his little cell he exhibited the same thousand yard stare so often found in war veterans with post traumatic stress disorder. Edward hadn't gone to war but what he experienced was very traumatic. The sun was coming up now and he'd spent the entire night with the threat of death, rape and torture hanging over his head like Damocles sword on mega mondo steroids. Fuck yeah he was traumatized.

For years to come, sociologists and psychologists would try to study the great riot of Seattle and try to figure out what it was that made half of the city go insane as if possessed by demons. Religious authorities would declare it apocalypse lite. A well known Muslim cleric would declare that the brother of the Great Satan (Bob) was responsible behind Seattle's fiery episode.

What nobody from psychologists to geologists to geomancers would ever suspect was that the great maelstrom of madness had originated with two gay men in fancy suits and a bunch of soulless KGB agents. From that one event everything else flowed; like all of time emerging from the book of genesis.

Edward's horrified reverie was interrupted by the approach of Jasper. Like Edward, his once fine clubbing s suit was an utter mess which needed to be put out of its misery and traded in for a nicer suit. The fabric was torn and stained with everything from grass to blood and one of his shoes was missing in action.

For both of the lads, the events of the night were blurry but most likely they'd remember their horrifying ideal in nightmares to come. Dollars to donuts however, neither man would ever forget the terrible duo of Revolver Ocelot and Alexander Anderson; cowboy Russian spy and corporate lawyer turned fanatical vigilante.

Wordlessly, the policeman opened the door and Jasper walked in with a zombie's aimless walk. Higher brain functions shut down, Jasper dropped down right next to Edward and for a long while neither of them walked.

While Edward's face was eerily blank, Jasper was visibly troubled by something, like a schoolboy who has to take home a failed test to his parents.

The corners of Jasper's mouth were turned down and he seemed to be seriously contemplating whether or not to burst out crying.

In his otherwise unresponsive face, Edward's eyes moved slightly to the right to glance at Jasper for the briefest of instants. A few seconds later, his eyes moved right and lingered there just a bit longer. The third time, Edward was actually turning his head to look at Jasper.

"Hey," came the barely legible whisper. "Are you alright?"

Jasper sighed, looking more and more like a poor sad puppy about to get punished by a cruel owner. "No, I'm not alright." His lips started to do that cute pout that Edward just loved so dearly. If he wasn't bone dead physically and morally tired his little man would stand and salute in his trousers.

The blond haired Texan fellow explained his predicament. "I just gave my parents a phone call. Lucky mom was able to pick up the line."

Edward swallowed a lump in his throat. Parents were an uncomfortable topic for him; he and his folks didn't part on happy terms and both parties ended up inflicting a lot of hurt on each other. Evidently Peter Pan has got it easy; no parents and no STDs.

"So I called my mom and dad; dad was passed out on the couch after fucking himself up on beer and cough medicine."

This statement caused Edward to frown but say nothing. From the way Jasper was talking, one might deduce that Daddy Whitlock did that sort of thing on a regular basis.

"So I told my mom that I was in jail and she freaked out. I just told her that I didn't kill anyone."

Jasper exhaled and put his face in his hands, utterly miserable. "So I started to explain what I'd been doing this night. I told her how I'd nearly been put through a wood chipper and killed in a hundred horrible ways."

"But the worst part was when she asked me what I was doing at a night club in the first place."

Edward tried to be sympathetic, Jasper had tried to save his life a few times so it was the least he could do. "What happened then?"

Jasper moaned and put his face into his hands. "Then I had to explain to my mom that I was in a night club looking for a guy to take home with me to bed. Then she got really mad and she twisted my arm so that I told her what my night life was like."

Edward nodded. "So she doesn't like you being gay?"

Jasper rose up and looked at Edward with large, emotive eyes. "No man, they're perfectly fine with me being gay. You sort of don't expect that with Texan parents but when I came out they still loved me just as much."

His voice lowered in despair again. "The problem is that they thought I was saving myself for marriage. When my mom found out I'd had sex out of wedlock she started to cry."

Edward winced at Jasper's miserable state. He and his mom may not be on speaking terms but the idea of making her cry was still not something he enjoyed doing.

"So now my mom is mad because I did it out of wedlock." Then he moaned. "Oh man, when my dad gets sober he's going to squash me like a bug."

Edward put a hand on his sobbing companion. "Come on, Jasper; your dad can't be all that scary."

"You don't understand," Jasper bemoaned. "My dad is the toughest guy you'll ever meet. He's former army and even though he's a bit fat he's still tough as nails."

This made Edward chuckle a little bit. "Sounds like we could have used him here with us."

That made Jasper laugh a tiny bit and helped to turn that frown just a little upside down. "Yeah Edward, he'd have been a huge help." Jasper made a slicing motion with a pantomimed knife. "My dad would have killed seven of these guys without breaking a sweat."

The two men were smiling now, thanks inadvertently to Daddy Whitlock. Edward's posture relaxed just a little bit. "Your dad sounds like an awesome guy."

"He is," Jasper grinned. "But my mom is the really scary one in the family. If she were a man she'd be in a maximum security prison right now."

Edward was impressed. "Wow, makes my mom sound like bambi." For some reason, family didn't seem too painful to talk about when Jasper was near. He just had that rare calming presence.

Jasper too seemed to be easing up, as if Edward were reflecting that calming aura back onto him. "My mom is the sweetest lady in the world, but still waters run deep. She doesn't get mad often but she gets mad something fierce."

Edward gave Jasper a friendly shoulder tap. "Hey, you're not so bad yourself. You're kinda tough."

Jasper laughed. "I'm 'kinda' tough? Oh please, I'm terrible. In college I was on the football team and tonight I was running from old Russian men and Scottish giants."

"No," said Edward. "You were really good tonight. You gave it good to Sweet Kapoyanis."

_Two hours ago_

_They were like the three musketeers, except none of them was French and rather than musketeers their ranks were comprised of a bar fighting son of a carpenter, the bar fighting son of a pimp, some kind of freaky gorilla man and a pair of gay men with varied and interesting stories to tell. _

_At present, the boys were locked up inside a squad car in handcuffs. Nobody was happy to be here, with the possible exception of Dennis the bruiser; he wasn't really intelligent enough to register that being captured by the cops was a bad thing. _

_The back of the police vehicle was barely big enough to fit Dennis, so vast was his bulk. Accommodating him as well as four other dudes took some creativity on the part of the police officer who owned the vehicle and the NATO troops who arrested them all. _

_Dennis took up the right corner of the backseat and his great weight caused the police car to lean to one side. Sitting on Dennis's table sized lap was Jasper. Jasper was deeply uncomfortable and didn't care move. It was as if he was worried that Dennis was going to eat him. He was certainly big enough for it. _

_Edward meanwhile was sitting on Peter's lap and nobody was happy with that little arrangement. Edward stat on Peter, looking mightily awkward as he did so. _

_Peter was utterly pissed off. He didn't hate gays, but he thought it was fucking disgusting to be touched by a man in this way; irrespective to the fact that the man touching was doing so not by his own volition. _

_Biting his lip with embarrassment, Edward tried to ignore how fucked up this was and tried especially to ignore that he was aware of how hard and fit Peter's body was. "Pete, I am so sorry about this."_

_In this uncomfortable situation, Peter was so mad that he couldn't even come up with words to describe it. He was grateful that he saved Edward's life, but this was too fucking much. He wasn't gay! _

_Eventually, Peter's rage and humiliation lessened enough that he could form a coherent sentence. "Man, just . . . don't talk. Just don't talk."_

_Sweet Kapoyanis was the best off of them all because nobody was sitting on his lap. Sure it was cramped between Peter and Dennis he didn't have some fucking faggot from outer space on his lap. In fact, Kapoyanis made no secret of the fact that he was pleased as hell with the way the cookie had crumbled on his behalf. _

_He was so pleased in fact that a few minutes ago Peter had threatened to kick his groin in if he didn't shut the hell up about it. _

_Kapoyanis sat between his two buddies and smirked to himself. "No worries boys, by sunup the whole Kapoyanis clan will be swarming that fucking police station like flies on shit. If my dad has his way, we'll all be having breakfast at my _Thia Roula's_ house."_

_Jasper looked hopefully at Kapoyanis. The debonair Texas boy looked like Anne Darrow and Dennis looked like King Kong. "Will there be baklava there?" As hard as Jasper tried to preserve his girlish figure, he did love the honeyed goodness of baklava so much. _

"_There's none for you, fag boy. You and your girlfriend are just going to have to stay outside in the yard."_

_Normally Peter would have given Sweet a good natured bitch-slap over such a homophobic comment, but right now he was just too tired for all that. _

_Luckily, Jasper found a backbone and didn't need Peter's defence. "Oh Jesus Christ," he cursed. "Are you fucking retarded?" Raised in a good Christian household, Jasper wasn't normally inclined to take the lord's name in vain but fuck it; Sweet had it coming to him. _

_In response to Jasper's aggressive tones, Sweet's body language indicated he was surprised by this. _

"_Your dad is a fucking pimp. I bet by now he's already infected your mom with AIDS."_

"_Fuck you!" Sweet snarled. "Only faggots have AIDS!"_

"_No, fuck you, you brain damaged cunt," Jasper growled at Kapoyanis. "Statistically, heterosexual women are more likely to act as carriers for the HIV virus and I always use a condom. Does your dad use a condom when he fucks his whores?"_

"_They're not whores!" Sweet denied. "They're legitimate masseuses. And my dad and me never use a condom. They're for little girls."_

_Jasper just smirked coldly at Sweet, as if wishing for the man to die of a horrible sexually transmitted disease. _

_Now_

Jasper laughed and tried to be modest about it. "Sure I gave it to him good, but he was handcuffed. I'm pretty sure any other time he would have kicked my ass."

Edward laughed while Jasper's relatively innocent comment drew his attention to the man's ass. It was nice and shapely. Even sitting down, the pants really showed off Jasper's posterior nicely.

Edward comforted the other man. "No, you really gave it to him good."

Jasper blushed demurely. "Aw, thanks a lot."

A silence ensued but it was hardly an awkward one. It involved Edward and Jasper looking at each other in the eye. It was a deep and insightful look and words would have spoiled it.

In those few moments, Jasper and Edward turned towards each other and _saw_. Their faces were hardly apart and the tension of unspoken feelings crackled in the air like ten million volts of electricity with amperes and ohms to spare. It felt like the two men had known each other for years and years.

"Jasper," said Edward. It felt like a herculean effort to speak when his chest felt so constricted. The last time his heart pounded like this he'd been a mere teenager just discovering his sexuality.

Likewise, Jasper's voice came out in a hushed whisper, as if the hard fluorescent lights were romantic candles and the scream of inmates and injured was _Debussy. _"Yes."

"Do I know you?" It was a question with so much expectation behind it. Edward hoped that the answer was yes.

Jasper struggled with words for a minute, battling with the urge to kiss deeply this other man who'd been in his thoughts for so very long a time.

Eventually he found the words and humble words they were; not a grand proclamation of love at all. "I knew you in high school," came the hushed response.

Edward's eyes widened and excitement filled him. He suddenly pulled away from Jasper and started to raise his voice. "Really; get out of here! Who were you?"

Inside his head, Jasper was cursing that Edward suddenly had to get so excited and burst the tranquil moment of just-about-to-kiss. Still, he forced himself to reply because there were other elements to a relationship other than sex—right?

"Do you remember that there was a geeky kid at Forks High School with blond hair and glasses? You were the guy who gave that kid math tutoring."

For a little while Edward tried to dredge up memories of a time. Through the fog of ages and the brain damage of ecstasy use (not that he was proud of it) he marched trying to find out the identity of the mysterious damsel dude who sought him like he was some sort of prince.

From the blackness of forgetfulness and the vaults of long term memory came something long ago though unimportant and shuffled off in favour of more pleasant or more important memories. Edward remembered who Jasper was.

"I know who you are," he gushed happily. "You're Jasper the geek!"

Despite the unflattering moniker, Jasper smiled. "Thanks for remembering. We only met one time and I had no idea that people hated me enough to give me a bad name."

"No," said Edward, for it was never his intention to offend. "I remember you. You were one of the smartest people that I ever tutored. Nearly everybody else was just a fucking animal."

Jasper blushed again and Edward wished he would do it more often. "Actually I sort of faked having trouble in math just to meet you."

Now, Edward didn't blush, but he still felt embarrassed enough that he felt he ought to be blushing. "Come on Jasper, I was the school pariah back then. After I came out all the homophobes came out of the woodwork." The last bit of his statement was sad and falling, as if inside of the confident gay clubber was still a very insecure and vulnerable young man.

"You've got it all wrong, Edward," Jasper protested. "A lot of people looked up to you. You actually came out and when they bullied you, you stood up for yourself. When my family moved to Texas you inspired me to come out and all sorts of people."

Edward smiled but it didn't reach his eyes. "Nah, I was just a pariah. Guys were afraid to shower with me after sports and they put garbage in my locker." The pain was long repressed but it was coming back a bit.

Jasper had to work hard to overcome Edward's own bad high school experiences. "Edward, you obviously don't know how many people you affected positively. Before you graduated, Tyler Crowley had the courage to come out because of you."

Edward remembered Tyler because the bastard's van nearly ran over him during winter. "I didn't know he was gay," he said with a frown.

Jasper nodded energetically. "He was and not long after that he was dating a guy named Eric. Do you remember Mike Newton's sister?"

That phrase about Mike Newton's sister conjured up images in Edward's mind but not of a sister. He seemed to recall that Mike hung out with this big guy. "I think you mean Mike Newton's brother," he attempted t correct.

"No, it was his sister. She was just really butch but when she saw you she finally came out with her sexuality and she even made a class PowerPoint debunking myths about gays and lesbians and showed it to the entire class."

This staggered Edward and not just because he'd always believed that Mike Newton's sister was really his brother. "She did all that? I don't even remember that."

The blond tried to rationalize it as cops dragged another prisoner to a cell. The cells were largely empty as most of the rioters were either dead, hospitalized or back home treating their wounds at home.

"It's alright Edward; all of this was a long time ago."

"Or maybe I was just a damn self absorbed bastard back then," he grumbled, lowering his head.

Jasper took Edward's sweaty, bruised hand into his own. "Don't say that, Edward," he said with the firm gentleness of a parent. "You may have been self absorbed but all of us at high school were. High school was a hell that the better of us grew out of." His green eyes were full of determination. "You should be glad you're a better person now."

Edward just squirmed on the spot. He usually buried his own self loathing in wanton sex and the joys of his work as a photographer, but this was threatening to expose the skeletons in the closet. "Look, Jasper," his reluctance was plain for all to see. "You're really hot, I mean that; but I'm not somebody you want to get into a relationship with. I haven't changed at all since high school; I'm a cold, ruthless bastard who loves them and leaves em'."

"And when I say 'love' I mean it in the loosest sense of the word," Edward amended.

Jasper grabbed Edward and began to snuggle. In all fairness, Edward had never snuggled and thought it was something only women did. Now though he was starting to see the merits of the snuggle as Jasper tried to get comfortable on Edward.

In his mind Edward was sure that getting close to Jasper would be selfish as he'd likely break the poor bloke's heart, but his heart was telling him GO FOR IT!

"Are you trying to say that you're selfish?" Jasper's voice was coy and very cute. Edward's brain was losing the argument with his heart.

"Yes," he said, now trying to convince himself of it. "I'm very selfish." Edward gasped.

But the Texan knew how to handle a hard heart like Edward. He'd dealt with hard nuts like him when dating and he knew how to break down all defences. "The way I see it is, you owe me."

Edward cocked his head. "I owe you?"

Jasper smirked. "Yeah, I saved you out there and the least you can do is give a relationship with me a chance."

The copper haired man grinned lopsidedly. "Somebody is a bit demanding today."

Jasper nodded. "At first I just wanted to see what sex was like with you. When I saw you at the club I couldn't believe my luck, but now I want more. I want to see if we can last outside of hell on earth."

This caused Edward to chuckle a bit, his hands unconsciously reaching to hug Jasper. It felt like ages since he'd hugged anybody. "I don't know; maybe I could go into a serious relationship with you. I'm a pretty hot commodity on the scene and a lot of eager and hot guys are going to miss me."

"Screw them," scoffed Jasper. "Did they stand by you when Ocelot pulled a gun on you, or did you save any of them from an eagle?"

"It was a parrot," Edward corrected his new maybe-boyfriend. His demeanour became depressed again. "And to be honest I'm not really proud of how much I sleep around. I feel like such a slut."

To his surprise, he got flicked on the nose by Jasper. "Don't call yourself that! Not ever; do you hear me?"

Eyes wide and utterly shocked by the other man's mothering nature, Edward nodded briskly. "Yes sir."

Deciding that Edward had enough, Jasper giggled. "I like being called sir; you should call me that more often."

This made Edward chuckle. Changing the subject, he offered an insight. "We should be thankful it's over. Gays in Saudi Arabia have to deal with this every day."

Jasper smiled contentedly at Edward's brilliant epiphany. "Thank God this is Seattle and not Medina."

_Here is the sex scene starting now_

The next minute something strange happened. One moment Jasper was snuggling with Edward and then the next Edward was pinning him down on the bench in their cell and sucking face like he thought there were precious metals in Jasper's throat.

Jasper welcomed the violation of Edward's tongue in his mouth. His hands roamed all over and felt the hard on in Edward's pants, cock blocked by so many foes and so much evil.

The kissing was rough and too eager, but by God Jasper welcomed every bit of it. It wasn't the best kissing he'd ever had but it was the most intense. Ripples of ecstasy ran down his entire body, every nerve ending was alive and aflame with sensation. He gripped Edward so hard he was certain that he'd leave bruises.

Not even bothering to breath, Jasper started to stroke Edward's dick through the straining materiel of the pants. Reciprocating, Edward started to thrust his hips into Jasper's hand.

Edward meanwhile was having the time of his life. The ultimate thrill seeker had found the ultimate thrill. Edward's delicate hands ran through Jasper's luscious hair and massaged the scalp with tenderness totally alien to the wild, frenzied animal abandon with which he kissed the other man.

Edward sucked on Jasper, taking in his lips greedily and getting high off of the other man's taste. It was a totally unique new taste and Edward just wanted to suck him dry. Meanwhile, Jasper's hand on his cock was driving him insane. It felt like he hadn't had any release in years and that pretty little hand touching his shaft was a gift from the forces of good.

Using his skills at sex picked up and earned over many years, Edward began to grind his crotch into Jasper's. Jasper moaned and started bucking like a spastic muscle.

Edward was becoming drunk off of the effect that he was having on Jasper. The whole thing was a flood of endorphins and adrenaline like nothing that either of them had ever felt before.

In the next cell over, the stoner Bella was watching the hot boi on boi action with the aid of a hand mirror. The weed addled woman bit her lower lip as the hand not holding the mirror fingered her pussy through her dirty panties. "Oh," she grunted, "I wish those two liked women." Then she wished that she had some more weed.

Jasper and Edward continued their dance that was far too intense, too pleasurable to be a mere dry hump. It was union of the flesh and both of the boys should have cum long ago. Their nerves for feeling pleasure were charged with a million volts past whatever they were used to; only a miracle was keeping this hawt and sexy display from stopping prematurely.

But things were reaching a boiling point. Edward's kissing was becoming wilder and harder. He bit Jasper's lip, evoking a deep, pleasurable moan from the man.

Jasper jerked Edward harder as the other man thrust and ground faster. It was a marvellous grind of flesh on flesh and damn the clothes they were wearing.

Suddenly Edward reached it; the big O. Orgasm, baby. It came and hit his system like a drug. It started as a clenching of the testicles, a freezing of his frantic sexual motions and the knowledge that nothing he could do would stop him from cumming.

As he blew his jizz into his pants, he bit down on Jasper's lip hard enough to draw blood. Jasper was too far gone to not enjoy the pain and he too unleashed a flood of jizz in his pants.

And without so much as a word, Edward collapsed on Jasper like a pile of boiled spaghetti.

It was one amazing orgasm. Jasper was wondering if this came from dry humping; how good would the actual fucking be?

It was great not-quite-sex. It was Solid Snake bending Naomi Hunter over a desk full of beakers just to prove that he's not that old. It was the great John McLane consummating love with his ex-wife after battling terrorists. It was proof that I gotta stop using heterosexual metaphors as symbols of gay sex.

_Sex scene ends now, thanks for playing ;)_

Jasper panted on the spot, his rational mind now finally trying to comprehend just what the hell happened. Not that he was complaining; he was just stunned.

His body was once more poring with sweat and his cum stained underpants felt very uncomfortable. Surely Edward must be feeling the same disbelief.

Mentally, Jasper was going over several things that he might possibly say to Edward. "_That was good_"or"_You're__ amazing,_" or even "_You're fucking nuts but I love you_." The last one was the option that Jasper chose to immediately disregard because he believed that talk of love would drive Edward away.

He never got to say any of that because he was distracted by a buzzing noise. Gently, Jasper tapped at Edward's shoulder after freeing Edward's hot shaft from his grip. "Edward; you okay?"

It was only apparent a few minutes later what Edward was doing. He was snoring; pretty as you please and passed out on top of Jasper.

Experiencing a sudden shock in his system, Jasper realized how awkward a situation he was in. There he was lying with a man he hadn't seen since high school in the middle of a public place.

If his parents were here right now, he'd be in for the spanking of a lifetime.

There was another dilemma before Jasper. He wanted to get into a more comfortable position but he was mortally embarrassed about what anybody would think if they saw the two of them together in this position.

That was when Jasper heard three sets of footsteps. The first two were normal but the third person even from this distance sounded massively heavy; huge thudding footfalls like the T-Rex in Jurassic Park.

Like a bunny rabbit, Jasper froze with terror as two police officers escorted a massive Scottish murderer with the green eyes of a snake into a vacant cell.

It was utterly alien to Jasper's experience; seeing Alexander Anderson behaving with such docility about his imprisonment. Jasper was expecting nashing teeth and foaming at the mouth.

Instead the man actually looked like he might actually be a mild mannered lawyer. Anderson spoke a few words to the police officers. Jasper was surprised to find the man's Scottish accent massively reduced, but he could not clue the exact words because Anderson's speech was muffled by a rather large bandage over his face where Ocelot shot him.

Grabbing his big golden cross and stretching slightly, Anderson sat gently down on the bench.

From there, Anderson started looking at Jasper. It wasn't glaring or scowling. He was just looking at Jasper as if he were an ordinary man staring at another man that he never met before. Anderson was the perfect picture of calm, but all Jasper could see was the brutal psychopath who wanted more badly to kill him than anyone had a right.

Frightened of Anderson, Jasper tried to look to Edward for support, but his latest sex partner was fast asleep and still having that adorable little snore.

Jasper looked back, pulse raised. Anderson hadn't looked away or moved at all. The giant man stood still as a statue. Eventually it was Anderson who broke the silence. "Have we met?" the man's thick Scottish brogue was almost untraceable. Evidently the accent only came out to play when the emotions were high.

Jasper was speechless at the facade of normalcy Anderson was presenting. If it weren't for his great height and strength, the man might easily be a regular ordinary priest who would smile while he said "God bless you."

The disconnect was so bad that Jasper was wishing for the psychotic Anderson. Behind bars, the villainous bayonet wielding murderer was easier to comprehend than the calm, charming Anderson.

Words to throw at Anderson were not coming to Jasper's mind. The man tried to murder him and now he was using his best Sunday manners.

So, feeling slightly nervous about doing it, Jasper decided to give Alexander Anderson the middle finger. His outward appearance gave no hint to how frightened he was of Anderson even behind two steel bar doors.

For a short but somehow very long moment, Anderson stood still and hid behind his mask of normalcy. And then the beast came out to play.

In a total reversal of behaviour, Anderson jumped at the bars of the cell like a frenzied animal and started hissing and growling.

Jasper tried to shrink in on himself, hugging the sleeping Edward like a teddy bear; who remained blissfully in dreamland.

Gripping the bars of the cell, Anderson's eyes were bulging out and his lips were drawn back in a snarl as far back as the big bandage would allow. In his true form, Anderson looked like a shaven, rabid werewolf.

The enormous man cocked his head this way and that, like a wild animal who doesn't understand the barrier that traps it from its prey.

Wide eyed, Jasper's eyes grew even wider as he saw Anderson grab two of the bars and start to pull outward.

It took a second for Jasper to realize what that awful screeching noise was. Then he realized it.

Anderson was bending the bars of his prison cell. Jasper trembled like a frightened puppy as the powerful vigilante slowly but inexorably pulled apart the bars of solid steel.

Suddenly, Anderson fell backwards and landed on the bench gasping for breath. In bending the steel for the night's next inhuman feet he'd used up the last of his energy.

The bars hadn't been bent back very much, maybe a quarter of an inch. Still, Jasper was speechless with fear at a man who could bend steel.

But the monstrous man had reached the limits which he continuously pushed in his unholy crusade against sinners and heathens. Anderson tilted his head back in preparation for the coming of dreams. What exactly he dreamed of he revealed to no one and no one asked what he dreamed.

Before he fell asleep though, Anderson focused a cool glare at Jasper. He touched a large finger to his temple before slowly and deliberately pointing his finger at Jasper. _I will remember you_; is what he was trying to say.

Jasper suddenly felt like a child; he wanted his parents to check his closet for monsters. The only difference was that the monster was very real and it was hiding in plain sight.

Now though the Christian beast was asleep, albeit only lightly so that it looked like at any minute he could get back up again and start his insane dance with renewed aplomb.

By this time, Anderson wasn't the only one who was totally spent. Despite the object of his terrors in front of him, Jasper could hear the call of dreamland.

Ignoring the madman for the time being, he buried his face in the crook of Edward's neck and fell fast asleep. It was adorable to the nth degree.

* * *

At the Swedish Medical Center, Seattle's chief hospital, Peter Costas was in a shit-ton of pain. When he fought the deadly Revolver Ocelot, he got four of the cocksucker's teeth stuck in his knuckles. The solution put forth by the doctors was as bad as the problem.

First they ripped the teeth from his knuckles with a pair of pliers; but first they wanted him to get nude and get in a hospital gown. Peter had threatened the doctors; warning that if they put something in his ass he'd stab them in the heart with the nearest scalpel.

But a whole lot of scalpel waving and threatening did Peter a whole lot of nothing; who knew what kind of diseases that old Russian fuck was carrying in his mouth?

Humiliated but at least assured that he was getting the right medical treatment, Peter stripped down to his fit muscular ass and got into a gown.

So the doctors ripped out the teeth in his knuckles. The next bit of their brilliant solution was to inject him with foot long horse needles between the knuckles. Peter swore loudly when he felt the ends of the needles touching his elbow.

With doctors gone, there was nothing for him to do but wait around until yet another doctor could give him another round of injections. Peter winced and flexed his right hand; the goddamn thing still hurt like stink.

Feeling bored and tired after the chaos and adventure of the night, Peter looked around to see if he had a roommate. There was another guy in this room but his bed was separated by a curtain the whole time. Peter glanced over as he heard the telltale noise of someone eating Oreo cookies.

The smell of cookies was making Peter slightly hungry as he hadn't eaten anything since last night. He started to form a plan which involved the other gentleman behind the curtain sharing some of his cookies. He was certainly eating them with relish.

So, leaning over in his bed, Peter casually pulled open the curtain and saw who he was sharing a room with.

There, eating Oreo cookies like they were going out of style and getting crumbs all over the bed was none other than the sinister Revolver Ocelot.

Ocelot's eyes widened just as he was shoving a handful of sugary cookies into his mouth. Despite the loss of his arm, the Russian was looking much better. He was at nearly full blood levels now thanks to a transfusion and the doctors had checked him out and treated him for his concussion.

There was no planning, no thought and no corny lines like in an action movie. It was pure animal, knee-jerk, gut instinct reflex that make Peter wind up his hand, curl that hand into a fist and punch Ocelot right on the jaw.

Unprepared for an attack and still hungry, Ocelot's head went flying back, followed by the rest of his body. The gunslinger fell backwards off the bed as Oreo cookies went flying all over the place.

* * *

Carlisle Cullen ravenously wolfed down a cold sandwich. He'd been up on his feet now for twelve hours since he'd last had a break or anything to eat. He'd been getting ready to leave for home when the he'd been called into an emergency surgery. The work of a cardiologist was never done. Then when the nerve wracking surgery was done the first injury victims from the riots poured in.

It was like this that Carlisle was sure how London doctors in the blitzkrieg had been forced to work. At one point he'd been stitching up a man with knife wounds when a maniac in a Darth Vader costume barged in with a katana and tried to hack up the good doctor. Lucky a slightly less insane man in a Luke Skywalker costume had come in and saved Carlisle.

From the look of things, Carlisle was going to have to stay at work for the next twenty four hours. Thank god for caffeine gum; those bastards were like five cups of coffee each.

The cafeteria of the hospital was crowded and much space had to be made for both injured people and people who were already bandaged up but needed sustenance. The lunch ladies here had been working at full tilt all night and one or two of them had to take snorts of cocaine just to keep going. Carlisle wouldn't mind a pinch of the stuff now; he was so tired.

Gobbling down the last of his mediocre sandwich, Carlisle didn't have to worry about hunger. Now he could focus purely about his wife and estranged son. He didn't know what became of his boy all those years ago but he and his wife never stopped hoping that they'd see him again. It ate him alive ever day, the not knowing of it.

The large public area was so full of people it resembled a third world hospital and it took some effort to navigate. Carlisle only just avoided stepping on somebody's grandparent and again barely kept his foot from landing on a badly mangled dog.

Carlisle was forced to stop when his cell phone buzzed at the arrival of a text message. A quick read of the message revealed it to be a simple one. "_Look behind you._"

Complying with the message, Carlisle turned around and some distance away in the tumult he spotted a familiar head of caramel coloured hair belonging to none other than his lovely wife, Esme.

The worry for his wife and son didn't go way entirely but it did abate. The weary doctor's heart soared as his matronly wife waved to him. In one hand she held a heavy stainless steel tray with a pie on it. The woman may have hated vacuuming but she was one hell of a cook.

Carlisle didn't get the chance to embrace his wife and taste her fine pie because at that moment something out of the ordinary happened. The riots had ended but the madness was still there in its latent form.

From out of the corner of his eye, Carlisle saw a short but statuesque Italian or Greek type man with dark hair. The guy was nude except for a hospital gown and he was running at full tilt into the cafeteria. Carlisle merely figured the guy was very hungry.

Carlisle nearly shit himself and Esme dropped her pie when it was found out by all that the Greek guy was running from revolver fire.

Three shots fired off in quick succession and one of the hit the man in the shoulder, causing him to stumble and knock over a table full of people who were just trying to eat; spoiling supper and smashing the flimsy folding table.

The gunshots came from an old man with long white hair and a moustache. He too was wearing a hospital gown, although he appeared to be missing an arm and carrying a single action colt revolver.

Cocking his weapon, Ocelot charged after Peter in the hopes that he could score a close up execution and feel some brains splatter all over his face. That was a fun feeling to have.

With the grace of a gazelle, Ocelot leapt and sprinted over shocked and panicking people just as a wounded Peter leapt on him.

Carlisle watched in shock as the two men started to grapple. The Greek man was hampered by his wounded shoulder so he failed to stop Ocelot from biting down on his wrist like a starving animal.

Peter howled in pain as he felt the bones in his wrist crack. Even with four teeth missing, Ocelot had the bite of a jungle cat.

Carlisle struggled to avoid being trampled by the fleeing people when he saw his sweet, motherly wife Esme charge the crazy Russian with the metal tray raised overhead. The pie was another casualty of the night.

Before Ocelot could react, a caramel hair coloured MILF ran up to him and clubbed him three times over the head with a stainless steel cooking tray.

_BONG! BONG! BONG! _Went the tray as it smoked Ocelot over the head.

The blows weakened Ocelot enough for him to drop his gun and let go of Peter with his mouth. Peter tried to knee Ocelot in the nuts but tripped over a wounded man crawling to safety and fell backwards.

Enraged, Ocelot smacked Esme across the mouth like an angry pimp and knocked her to the floor.

The sight of his own wife being smacked like a common whore was too much even for gentle, pacifistic Carlisle. In a moment, he was seeing thunder and lightning in his peripheral vision and hearing missiles explode.

The whole world seemed to fragment and snap before forming together in such a way that Revolver Ocelot was the target of his fury.

It all happened so fast; one second Carlisle was standing there and the next he could see the old Russian as if they were standing nose to nose.

Carlisle tackled Revolver Ocelot like a football player. The momentum of the strike took both men a distance where they crash landed on a table full of food. The food splattered and the table shattered as if Chris Farley landed on it.

Ocelot couldn't even catch his breath before the blonde doctor slugged him on the exact spot where Peter struck him.

Carlisle wasn't prepared for the prowess of the Russian cowboy as the man's only fist shout out and knocked Carlisle down.

Rolling over, Ocelot saw that this fight was over. He needed to head to a safe place far away from these madmen. Fleeing the wounded Greek, the stunned Doctor and his pimp slapped wife; Ocelot disappeared into the crowd as easily as a man in a hospital gown had.

As he fled, Ocelot kept his mind off the discomfort by thinking of the number of ways he'd kill and torture Edward and Jasper. Truly there was no limit to the ways that the KGB member would inflict hell on those two homos.

First though, he'd need a new arm. Ocelot smiled despite everything; his pimp hand was indeed still strong.

_Thus concludes the terror which took hold of Gay Street and then extended its stranglehold to every street in the city. So be warned, dear reader; the madness of Gay Street runs wild in every human heart, but so does love. _

_Live and be well . . . if you don't get killed right away. _

* * *

And so ends the magical adventure of two gay men and an army of psychos. To all my readers it's been wonderful :D I love all of you guys because it was you who motivated me to write this and frankly I'm sad that it's all over now. Did you know that this story was meant only as a oneshot but it grew into so much more? Well it's true. And I wish you all the best of luck with your story writing endeavors.

I'd also like to thank all my fans :D Shadow's Nightmare, Lion in the Land, Shallowswan, Sleepsheep, Blacksand1, Haissan and Zikare. Thanks for reviewing you guys ;) I reccomend you check out any one of their profiles as I can tell you from experience that they are all fine, marvelous writers guaranteed to keep you entertained until the last.

No more stories until after finals, but still the same, good luck. :)

Ta

I am the Master of teh Boot

Peace out


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